


torches

by xxBech



Series: anchorage [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, a lot. of group therapy., gratuitous mentions of music & playlists, there's also some talk of legal stuff concerning child abuse/neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 82,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxBech/pseuds/xxBech
Summary: "My mom used to tell me my thoughts would pour out of my ears if I kept thinking too hard." Isak threw back another fry, keeping his gaze down."That's pretty fucked up, man." Even deadpanned, making Isak snap his head up in a laugh."Fuck you," He giggled, tossing one of the soggier ones at Even and being decidedlyunimpressedwhen he caught it in his mouth.Or, a canon divergence AU in which Isak's childhood is exponentially more severe -- where he can't remember coming to school without bruises, a bottle of hand-sanitizer, and long sleeves. It's fine, he'sfine. It wasn't for his friends, though; and that's how he wound up here, in a fold-up chair every Tuesday and Friday, talking about his experiences with other post-secondary kids diagnosed with some kind of PTSD. It's also where meets a guy whose name starts with the same letters aseverything,because that's... exactly what he is.





	1. I (so i hold on tight and i learn to behave)

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello it's me again, desperately trying to crawl out of an early grave. i'm still writing [all of me, you take now](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9493574). i'm still losing my mind over this show every day of the week -- i think i'm just doing it louder, again. 
> 
> this one is directly inspired by the bands Jon Bellion & Wild Party, who gave me _so many_ ideas it's like i couldn't breathe. it's also directly inspired by the my best friend spencer... because i'm pretty sure you  & i came out of the same star dude ☆☆
> 
>  
> 
> [find me here!](http://lachesisrn.tumblr.com)

Isak’s not giving in on the premise that he actually wants to go. Isak’s giving in because Olsen, his case worker and probable life saver, is using that tone of voice that makes him want to dissolve into the carpeting of her barren office.

“This is legal stuff, Isak,” she’s saying, sigh bouncing off the wall. “It’s not like I want to make you go any more than you want to, but the judge ordered it.”

“Let’s not and say we did?” He tries, met with exasperated eyes in the reflection of her computer monitor. She’s been hunched over a legal pad for so long the screen went to sleep, back to Isak and pen scribbling frantically as she transcribes his every word. Or, at least, that what he thinks she’s doing.

“Let _do_ and say we did, instead.”

“How long do I have to go?” He tried instead, rolling the ends of his sleeves in his palms. They’ve been tucked into his sleeves for so long he’s not sure how he hasn’t poked a hole right through this shirt. 

Olsen’s eyes meet his again, actually spinning around this time to give him an exhausted stare. 

“As soon as we can put this to bed, we can quit fighting in my office. It’s seven weeks, Tuesdays and Fridays, 19 to 20. You attend every meeting barring medical emergencies. And then case management is one step closer to keeping their nose out of your-- and I mean _your_ , not your parents’ -- business.”

“I didn’t know we were fighting,” he says quietly. Olsen deflates further.

“Not what I meant, Isak. I’m sorry. We’re not fighting.”

He squints.

“That’s not what I meant either. I meant, I don’t call this _putting up a fight._ You wanna see that, you should-”

Olsen’s pen stops him as she holds it in the air, a real flinch shaking his frame further into the sofa. Her eyes widen for a moment before she swallows.

“I was… you know I have to-”

“Yeah.”

Isak knows she was holding up the pen to stop him from continuing. She’d have to file it if he said something about his parents, about how things are going at home, and both of them knew that.

Except Isak really doesn’t have anyone to mention this sorta stuff to, so when it rains… It pours. Olsen knows it. Held up the pen to signify him to stop. Instead, she got a reaction to a sudden movement that is, much like most of the movements Isak’s carries himself with, a tell of _”problems in the home,”_ or whatever Olsen called them the first time.

So now she has to file that one, too.

Isak slumps back into the sofa a little further, trying not to let disappointment rear up.

Thirteen weeks ago to the day, his father treated him to a sprained wrist and a black eye even Vilde’s concealer couldn’t manage to cover. 

Vilde and Eva, easily the most understanding people Isak’s ever met, were two of three people who had an idea of what his home life was like. They’d sort of found out the night of a pregame Isak couldn’t attend but ended up crashing with a frantic call to Eva _\--_

 _“Hey, I-- fuck, okay, you told me a couple days ago that your mom was out of town again,”_ He’d said breathlessly, which he’d later find out was on speakerphone and rose so many of Jonas’s flags he was _visibly shaken_ (being the only person at the time who had any idea about his father), _”Is there any way I can crash at yours? Just for one night, on the couch, I’ll be gone before you wake up.”_

Following a ride home from Vilde’s mother, she and Vilde had found him in a shaken state on her porch and like _look,_ Isak knew they wanted to help, but fucking grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up was not the way to do it. There were too many other motions associated with the movement for him to handle it subtly, and, well. 

A lot came out that evening.

Including Isak, but whatever.

He can’t really remember all of what he’d said, but apparently it was a lot about _my dad never lets up_ and _even the fucking sound of her voice scares me_ and _i’ll never be able to tell them i’m gay, i’ll never be able to--_

Yeah, you get the drift.

Waking up that morning was interesting, greeted by Vilde with a makeup sponge and Jonas offering him a change of clothes.

And, y’know, Eva’s mom, who’d arrived home a few hours prior and was a little too adamant about driving him to the hospital before he could try to get to school. 

He’d passed it off to her as though he’d been hit by a car. Better than the truth. It worked for her. Worked for his friends (who were incredibly quick to vow their silence about the situation despite knowing, and mentioning, that something should be done. Isak’s pretty good at begging, though, so getting them to keep quiet was a little easier than he had thought otherwise). 

Did not work for Skrulle. Knew a right hook when she saw one, he guessed, which is why she was wiping concealer from his cheekbone at 11:30 in the morning and speaking with someone at a place he’d quickly learn was also the place he’s now being sent to for… group therapy.

Tuesdays and Fridays, 19 to 20.

***

“Your skin’s gonna fall off if you keep that up,” Eva said, sitting across from him the canteen with a dull thud to the bench. Isak flashed her a smirk, massaging the hand sanitizer into his fingers as she continued. “Woah, Jesus. They’re gonna make you take a breathalyzer, too, if you keep using so much of that.”

He tilted his head in thought for a moment. “I… Don’t think…”

“Wrong kind of alcohol?” She tried, squinting an eye and lifting a fork full of cantaloupe to her mouth. He shrugged.

“Probably. Uh. Would you happen to…” He didn’t have to finish for her to reach around into her bag, pulling out a box of unused pens for him to pluck from. “Thanks.”

She nodded around her bite. “How’s your hand? Better?”

He nodded, rolling his wrist around for her to see before putting the pen back to his paper. She watched him for a moment, considering, and then pointed her fork at him in question.

“Yes?” He quirked a brow, not even looking up to see her.

“Eva’s gonna-- er--”

“Eva?” He looked up, furrowing his brows as she shut her eyes tightly. 

“I’m Eva, I know, shut up,” She laughed, forcing one from Isak as well. “Whatever. It’s too early for this. _Vilde,_ I meant, wanted me to ask if you wanted to attend her pregame on Friday, just so we can get a head count and things?”

Isak took a moment to search his paper before glancing up at her. “I… would really like to, sure, but…”

She nodded once, forking another piece of cantaloupe as she spoke. “I just don't want…” 

“Oh, no, it's… I have plans, kinda.”

She stopped chewing, making Isak throw up his hands in defense. “No, no! No. Not _good_ plans. Olsen, uh, my… case management…” he searched around them for a moment before continuing in a hushed tone.

“Case management is making me go to this group thing on Friday. Only for an hour, though. What time is the pregame? I can probably make it late.”

“You sure? It's at 20.” She eyed him carefully, shoulders hardly shifting as he broke out in a smile.

“Maybe not that late, then.”

“Late?” A third voice cut in, making Isak jump a little _(damnit. god fucking–)_ “Late for what?”

“Isak's coming,” Eva smiled up at Vilde, who took a seat shortly. “He's just a little late, waiting for Jonas to get off work first.” She lied effortlessly, and honestly, Isak was so thankful for Eva sometimes? Damn. For everything she was worth, the girl was damn good at context clues.

“Aw,” Vilde’s smile was the kind of sweet that made Isak's jaw hurt. “That's so nice of you.” 

Isak offered her something of a half smile before turning back to his homework, trying not to crack a smile at Eva's awfully concealed wink. She pulled out her phone from her pocket, messaging him a quick _make sure Jo’s in on this, he’s terrible at keeping secrets_

Isak had to smile that time.

_Not as bad as you_

Eva let out a noise of offense that had Isak laying his forehead in his notebook to keep from laughing too loudly, Vilde trying to decode what’d just happened, but, just. Jesus.

***

When he was fifteen, Isak developed a routine. 

Most of the years prior were chance, barely plotted and honestly miraculous in terms of how the fuck his parents never found out -- 

At eight years old, his sister Lea had been transported north to a boarding school, where she couldn’t… continue to _disrupt their lives_ or whatever his mom had said at the time. Something about she was preaching the devil’s word. Isak never really latched on to what she said. Only really recognized his sister was taken out from… _literally_ taken out from under him. 

Like, the idea of an atypically scrawny eight year old physically trying to keep his fourteen year old sister from getting taken by their father, whose knuckles were made of brass, was sort of comical… seven years later. At the time, it was easily the scariest thing that Isak had ever faced. 

She sent him letters every week, he replied when he could. It was weird and fantastic at the same time, because they’d… they both knew about mom, both understood how the house was run. It was nice just to be able to talk about it with someone. And then be able to talk about everything else. That was actually most of Isak’s childhood, outside of attaching to Jonas at the hip -- relearning his sister as handwriting. 

They did it for years. Only when Isak was fifteen did he try to develop a routine to intercept the mail -- they both knew that letting their parents find their exchanges would do far greater harm than good -- and it… didn’t last long.

Only three weeks into the system did he find the mailbox empty before 14:00. And. That was probably the most terrifying fucking thing.

And Isak was right to react like that, he later learned. Showing up to school with a limp made your friends worry, ask what was wrong, and then when you refused to tell them, you get called out for being a bad liar.

Well. Jonas called him out. In the locker room. Where Isak had a lot harder time hiding welts. 

Yeah.

Jonas is a good friend. Isak knew that. He did the right thing when he mentioned something to Skrulle. He did the right thing by refusing to vow silence about the mess, and Isak _knew that,_ okay, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed off about it. 

“I’d rather you be pissed off at me than dead, man,” is what Jonas provided, and, well, if that wasn’t something. It also became pretty apparent that without Lea in his life anymore… Jonas was the only character Isak had any real trust in. It was pretty easy to stop being mad after that.

Nonetheless, Isak was now faced with his world turning itself on its head as he lost his sister (perhaps permanently), his relationship at home became even rockier, if that was possible, and now he had to have childcare and court officials watching his every fucking move. 

Well. His parents’ moves. Not necessarily his; which, unfortunately, were just as big a tell as anything his parents did. Anything his parents tried to do whenever social workers made unexpected drop ins were sort of… knocked down. Not because they didn’t try -- like, Isak didn’t know his mother was capable of smiling for so long at once? Their efforts were certainly commendable. 

The thing is that Isak had adopted this… alright, well, Pedersen (a lady for another story) told him it was a _delusion,_ his mentality that others have no interest in helping him. Isak wore it openly, because it was actually a pretty big part of his outward demeanor in general _(why should I care if no one else does?)_ , which did _not_ look good to the social worker. If Isak had grown up a normal fucking household, maybe it wouldn’t have been as concerning, but Olsen later admitted that the _last_ thing Isak gave off was careless and sloppy.

Olsen straight up said, “Isak, you look like you’re about to run out of here at any given moment. All the time. You don’t look mad or nonchalant or whatever. You’re acting scared.”

It then made perfect sense why that social worker was adamant that he be removed from his own home. That ended up not working out in the long run, because, like, sure, his mom is severely mentally ill and father is barely ever home, but they’re _fit parents._

Which… is actually why Olsen is a character in his life in the first place. Because even though he was allowed to live at home with his parents, he had to go see a social worker once a week to ensure that he was no longer in danger.

He was, on some level. Which is why he still knows Olsen 17 months later.

Pedersen was a woman, early 60s and greying at the edges, he’s only met six or seven times. Isak was assigned psychotherapy sessions to try and undo some of his anxious behaviors where they aren’t necessary. Found out it was pretty _fucking_ hard to untie behaviors he’d learned in his most formative years. 

Following his first evaluation with her, Isak learned two things: he did not want to go to therapy, and having names for what makes him the way he is makes him _real_ fucking uncomfortable. 

This started the vicious cycle of refusing to go as often as he could, getting it from his father, and then going when he finally broke down from… yeah…

Yeah.

Fuck.

So Petersen told him three things about himself: he's terribly rooted in his ways. It's gonna take a lot of work, if he's willing to put in the time (spoiler: he was willing, he's just terrified). The second thing? He's got horrible OCD. 

Third thing?

Complex post-traumatic stress disorder.

He hated every word in that label. All five.

OCD he could do? Like, so what, he likes his hands clean and doesn't like touching doorknobs or pencils or steering wheels -- or. Anything on his bare skin, but, like, he's got a system for all that? That's fine. He can deal with that.

What he refused to deal with was… whatever c-ptsd made him do.

Fucking flinch when his social worker holds up a pen, he guesses. Yeah. 

Rehashing that mess helped him understand why he held his nose between his knees from where he was slouched over in a fold up chair, waiting for whatever _trygstyd_ is to begin.


	2. II (the secrets you tell me I'll take to my grave)

“The door’s gonna stay open until everyone's here, is that okay? I know it's cold, I'm sorry,” she was saying, like Isak could actually make it out or something. 

“It's fine,” he mumbled, rolling his sleeves over his fists are far as they'd go. It dawned on him that _that_ was probably why she thought he was cold, but.

Whatever. “It's not that bad.”

“You know group doesn't start for another twenty minutes? People typically aren't here this early…”

Oh, so she leads it. Okay. Gotcha.

“The tram stop is… right around the corner. I just got here a little early. Didn’t have anywhere else to be.” He shrugged, not lifting his head to greet her. 

“You new this round? So many come back for the rotations that you all start to meld together,” she laughed lightly. “I don’t recognize you, though. My name’s Bodil, I’ve been leading this for… six rotations now?” She quirked a brow in thought.

Isak blinked twice before waving a henley-covered palm. “Yeah, it’s the first time for me. I’m Isak.”

“Isak,” her smile seemed bleached under the flourescent lights. “It’s so good to have you here. This group is pretty easy to pick up on -- we have a sort of routine every time, about ten of you are returners from the last cycle… Fourteen students total, fifteen makes me.” Her pencil tapped her clipboard a few times, and it made Isak’s throat a little icey.

“Do… I need to…” He nodded to it, and she looked down to the clipboard like she forgot her fingers weren’t holding it like a vice. 

“Oh! Um, it would be appreciated -- I’ve been told you’re here on court orders, so--”

“Yeah, can you… not… mention that…” He grimaced, eyeing around the room to see if anyone had come in yet. When he turned back, he found the clipboard extended toward him and a tight-lipped smile.

With a clothed grip, he reached out to hold the edge of the wooden frame, eyes never leaving Bodil’s expression -- who, honestly, had probably been trained in how to react to any given thing that someone with… ptsd… does? It made Isak grimace as he picked up the pencil, signing his name sloppily and giving her a schooled smile.

“Valtersen?” She asked lightly, glancing opposite of them as he pulled one of those portable hand sanitizer bottles from his pocket. He nodded once, matching her quirked brow. “Is Marianne your mother, by any chance?”

That knife in Isak’s chest made its resurgence. He froze for a moment, thankful for her courtesy as she sat at the head of the circle, eyes still pointed down.

“Um…” He swallowed. “...Why?”

“My mother and her were friends for a little while, actually.” She shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since… maybe early 90s?”

Isak squinted, wanting to call bullshit (Bodil could _not_ have been older than 25, even if she did know mom there’s no way she’d remember her) when the door creaked open, a small chorus of voices accompanying it. He glanced over his shoulder, maybe a little too thankful he didn’t recognize any of them.

“Oh, Camilla?” Bodil smiled, standing again. “Brought a new friend?”

“Yeah,” the girl, blonde and uncannily similar to Bodil in stature, gestured for her friend to step forward.

Following that, it really couldn’t have been more than six or seven minutes of scrolling through Instagram before Bodil was glancing a little too eagerly at the digital clock fixed above the door. True to her word, fifteen chairs were set up, thirteen filled by the time the clock clicked 19:00. At the head, Bodil took the fourteenth, pursing her lip at the clipboard and tapping her _fucking_ pencil nine, ten, eleven times before settling it underneath of her chair with a sigh.

“Alright then,” Bodil clapped once, rubbing her hands together as she glanced around the group. “I’m so glad you guys could make it to _trygtsted_ this time around. I’m Bodil, I’m 28, leading these groups to get some in-field experience as I pursue my master’s degree in social work. I grew up in Copenhagen, the youngest of five kids, _recently engaged_ ,” she sang, wiggling her finger around the room, never losing her stride from the silence. “And I’m just… So excited you all are here. Do we… should we go around the circle and introduce ourselves?”

As it would turn out, most of the students in the group had that _one_ primary event that fucked everything up. Car wrecks, house fires, seeing death in the family… Things like that Isak felt horribly out of place for being unable to relate to. When it came time for him to say his piece, saying “little traumas, I guess, I don't really know,” visibly didn't sit well.

“I go to Nissen,” he'd said. “I'm a second year. I dunno – I, uh, listen to a lot of music…” 

He'd shrugged, eyeing Bodil nervously. “I'm really not that interesting. Sorry.”

Isak didn't really get why people had to share that shit in the first place – asking someone to revisit something traumatic didn't seem… appropriate, for some reason. 

The two other kids with his kind of PTSD, from what Isak could see, felt similarly. They both said things like “I didn't get along with my parents,” which was sort of comforting. Mostly Isak was just thankful they didn't push anything anyone said.

The group wasn't bad for about twenty minutes. It really wasn't. Until Bodil’s cheeky grin reverberated off the walls with words Isak had no desire to listen to.

“I know this is redundant, that a lot of skills and experiences we share here are things you've probably heard before,” her tone was slow. Isak was briefly reminded of Vilde. “But… you guys aren't alone. We all care about you in this room. I think it's beneficial that we know each other by name if we're going to be sharing some dark stuff in here.”

Oh, like _hell_ he was. He slouched back, eyes lifting to the ceiling. He could barely make an effort to begin tuning her out when the door was smacked open, making him jump in his seat.

"Hey, uh," a voice somewhere behind Isak called out, shaking the room with its presence. Their shoes squeaked on the linoleum, a pause in their confidence Isak barely detected. "I'm so sorry I'm late, my sister wasn't answering her phone, had to make sure she made it home y'know?" 

Isak blinked. 

"Sure, sure!" Bodil said, waving over the guy with an eager hand. He sat six seats down the circle from Isak, pulling the chair out with a screech to make room for,

Jesus. To make room for the longest legs he'd—

Isak coughed into his elbow to make himself look away (and also to conveniently hide the blush smattering his cheek, because _holy fuck, he's hot)._ He swallowed roughly and searched around the room again before letting his eyes land on Mr. Jean Jacket down there—

And as though Isak's blood wasn't already broiling, the guy's eyes were lingering on him, as well.

Isak's eyes rolled back up to the ceiling and _fuck,_ like _look_ okay Isak's known he's gay for a little while? He's been fine with it for just as long and like keeping it a secret was easy as hell when you're so stuck in pretending you're anything other than what you are (the fact that this part of him was melded in was unfortunate coincidence, ask anyone)? 

Maybe he expected to be like, _hey, this guy at this group isn't that bad looking,_ but he could have never... expected... 

"Isak?"

He jolted up. "Hm?"

"Thoughts?"

Isak swallowed. 

“Counterclockwise?” She said, motioning with her finger. “We’ll go around so that—”

“Yeah!” He rubbed the back of his sleeve over his forehead. “Yeah, that's good.” 

Not only did it mean he'd go towards the end (and more than likely, they'd run out of time before they even reach him), but it also meant he'd… hear Jean Jacket speak again…

And if he was honest with himself, he'd probably kill for that right now. Holy fuck. 

It took a bit of hearing the gorey details of a few people’s lives -- that girl Camilla had introduced was particularly memorable, apparently having been witness to the 2015 Paris attacks -- before they landed on Blue Eyes down there. He’d been attentive, nodding along and responding appropriately to the people before him. A lock of hair kept floating down to his forehead, though, and honestly, Isak wasn’t sure he’d ever been this distracted in his _life._

The worst part was the fact that the guy kept sneaking looks at _Isak_ as well. Made life pretty fucking hard when you’re-- well, when you’re eye-fucking a stranger. If Isak was completely honest with himself. 

“Mh,” the guy started, straightening up a little bit as he noticed all eyes turning to him. “I’m Even, freshly transferred and restarting my third year. I know I got here a little late, but it isn’t my first time here, so I guess most of you know me. I love movies, can’t think of music I don’t listen to, and I have acute stress disorder and comorbid PTSD, meaning that things are messy,” He sort of laughed that last part. Isak was certain the only reason he got matching chuckles was because Even’s smile was _fucking radiant._ Jesus.

“I don’t revisit the actual thing too often, but I guess I-- yeah,” He looked to the floor for a moment, considering, before glancing around the room again. “In 2011, my family was on a trip in Germany -- we got into a head-on collision with a freight train. Scary enough to be towards the front of the train when it happens, even worse to turn to your left and find your older brother with a piece of the train sticking out of his ribs. He died before we could even…” He shrugged and looked at the floor again.  
“That’s a lot of gory details, but I figured I wasn’t the only one.” His eyes met Isak’s for a second, and a chill went down the younger boy’s spine like Even _knew something,_ um, _fuck,_ before he turned to catch Bodil nodding along with him. 

Even left his story at that, saying that it was enough information on his part for the evening. He was late, didn’t want to take up too much time as it was, and the circle continued without incident. 

20:00 was the end of the session, and that landed in the middle of a guy’s speech who sat two down from Isak. Everyone reintroduced as they went around mostly for Even’s sake (apparently he was pretty popular in the group anyway). Isak refused to acknowledge the disappointment settling in his gut when it dawned on him he wouldn’t get to really meet Even tonight.

As he was tossing his bag over his shoulder, though, he felt something flutter behind his eyes when he noticed Even wasn’t jumping to leave like everyone else.

So maybe.

If he… went to grab some of the complementary water...

“Come here often?” He heard, and honestly, if that voice was the only heard for the rest of his life,

“Uh,” He turned to face Jean Jacket and tried not to jump away at the proximity. Even was _really--_

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking two steps back. “I didn’t meant to scare you. I just figured that… I wasn’t the only one making eyes, right?”

Even’s smile was gonna fucking kill him. Isak was calling it right there. 

So, he smiled right on back (albeit a bit shyer). “Definitely not.”

And, as though the sun was fucking born from that smile, Even gleamed, “Yeah? Here,”

He held out an open palm, and for a second, there was absolute terror of _he's not expecting me to hold hands, right?_ before Even was asking, “Phone? We could exchange numbers…”

“Oh!” Relief nearly knocked him to his knees as he pulled the device from his pocket. He tried not to be like, _that_ distracted by Even’s hands as he navigated, but.

If the rest of the evening had been any indication.

He handed the phone back smoothly, Isak decidedly unbothered by their fingers brushing (or, at least, if he could act like it for the next three minutes). Even’s gaze didn’t falter as he moved around to grab a cup of water.

"It was nice meeting you, Isak." Even throws back the paper cup like a shot, overhanding it into the bin and pumping a fist in the air when he lands it. Isak's too entranced to notice when he's almost to the door.

"Wait! Wait," he calls, not missing the way Even's shoulders jump. "Um, you came in late, how did you know my name?"

Even turns over his shoulder and steps out the door backward, who also does not miss the way Isak rolls his sleeve over his hand to hold the door open for himself. 

"I've... seen you every day? Since the first day of school?" He voice lilts up, nonchalant, and something knifes through Isak's chest. 

"You've what?"

Even's features grow soft. "You're a second year, right? At Nissen? You're with that girl Eva?"

"We're not actually together," Isak squints a little, sheepish. "She just... helps me, and stuff. I don't like touching things, so it gets a bit weird."

"Yeah," Even nods toward the door. "I can see how that'd be a problem. Well, here, look," he makes a show of putting his hands in his pockets. "If you don't yell, I won't touch, and I won't tell anyone you're here if you do the same for me. Our little secret, yeah?"

"Maybe not the only one," it's out before he can stop himself, but you know what? Watching Even's eyes light up and throw his head back in a laugh make it worth it. 

"Actually, what are you doing right now? My sister doesn’t need picked up for the next hour.”

***

_(_ **I dag** 20:17) um code red  
(20:18) eva you better answer the fucking phone  
(20:18) i’m actually not making it to the pregame

_(20:21) what’s happening?_

_(20:26) tell vilde’s third-year thirsty fingers that she cannot approach me at any given time tomorrow_

_(20:26) ISAK  
(20:26) WHO IS HE_


	3. III (when through that mist i see the shape of you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i just say... reading your comments restored my will to live fgdklgjl  
> i got so giddy!!! you guys!!! i'm so freaking glad you guys love this concept as much as i do??? oml i'm tearing up again bye
> 
> i hope you continue to enjoy this c: <33
> 
>  
> 
> [find me here!](http://lachesisrn.tumblr.com/)

“What are you--” Isak started, graciously interrupted by a phone tossed into his lap. Even had an aux cord sticking out from the CD port in his car, despite the actual place for one being not more than a thumbnail beneath it. The cord was knotted in right beneath the jack protruding from his phone. Isak held his palms open above it like he was eyeing a cockroach, which had Even chuckling. _”What?”_

“Oh, is--” He quit quickly, moving to pluck the phone back when Isak shrunk away. “I’m not gonna touch you, I just figured you could play music if you wanted to? But if you’re uncomfortable…”

“Your phone might be dirty,” Isak said, still eyeing it carefully. He heard Even hum before he reached in front of Isak again, which made him jolt further back into the seat _(fucking quit that, why--)_

The glove box. He just opened the glove box, and here Isak was, shaking like he was a fucking puppy. What the fuck, why is he _like this,_

“I have, like, wipes in here if you wanna scrub it down,” Even offered, pulling out the pack and putting it on the console between them. “I won’t grab ‘em… If that helps.”

For the first time since they hopped into the car, Isak chanced a glance over at the other boy. He was expecting some sort of mocking smile, if he was perfectly honest, but here the guy fuckin’ was, nothing but concern evident in his quirked brow. He swallowed harshly, unable to miss the way Even’s eyes shifted to track the movement of his adam’s apple.

“Do you just… keep these in here?” He tried to laugh, but it came out something like a sneer. He grabbed the opposite edge of the pack that Even had faced toward him, peeling back the opening to pull one out. 

Isak didn’t expect to be comforted by the coolness of the cloth, either, but here he was.

“I’m prone to spills,” Even smiled sheepishly. Seeing his expression falter like that was weirdly… 

It wasn’t therapeutic, that’s not the right word. But it took some of the tension out of his shoulders? And? If Even’s steady gaze gave him _anything?_ He noticed. 

It also made him smile, but.

“This is gonna take me, like, ten minutes,” Isak tried to joke, but he was just met with a shrug. “No, for real.”

“Alright?” Even shrugged again, a little laugh in his voice as he turned to face Isak a little better. “It probably needs it, if I’m honest.”

Isak wrinkled his nose as he rubbed down the screen. “It… Dude, that’s so-”

“I was half-joking,” He laughed, and Isak… kind of wanted to play along?

“And the half of you that isn’t?” He rose his eyebrows, not meeting Even’s gaze in favor of… Yeah. 

“Is really glad you’re doing that,” Even said, actually laughing now. Isak noticed the proximity shift because he’s _that guy,_ alright, whatever, but. He also. Couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.

Listen. Even smells _really good._

They sat there in silence for a moment, and it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable? Isak kind of enjoyed that Even just let them bask in it for a second. But he also couldn’t shake the feeling he was being ogled. So,

“Do you… know what we’re gonna do?” He tried quietly, a little scared to look up in case Even was any closer.

“I’m not gonna lie,” and yeah, he was _a lot_ closer, “I just wanted to keep talking to you.”

“Awh,” Isak mocked, pursing out his lips and making a conscious effort not to jump when he heard Even’s laughing _right fucking next to him,_ “You just wanted to steal me away, huh?”

“A little bit,” Even chuckled and _fuck_ wow man don’t joke about that, “You seem like you could use it.”

Isak _really_ fucking hoped his voice didn’t sound too shaky as he replied, “What I could _use_ is for you to turn on your car, it’s fucking freezing.”

“Oh!” Even flipped around suddenly. Isak closed his eyes, momentarily chastising himself for fucking jumping _again,_ and _look,_ everything is usually fine when he jars, but here’s this really fucking cute boy looking at him with eyes like Aquarius himself and hair that _looks_ soft, y’know? And Isak doesn’t look at people’s hands that often, but affording himself a glance now turns out to be the best decision he’s made tonight--

He feels gross for thinking it, but the first thing he notices is the lack of dirt beneath Even’s fingernails? It’s quickly followed by the thought that he wants to trace the veins he can see along the bones in the top of his hand, and, wow, um,

“You good?” Even asked, still fumbling with finding the ignition slot. It took Isak from his stupor as quickly as he was entranced. 

“Definitely not bad,” He breathes, keeping the wet wipe between his palm and the back of Even’s phone as he moves to unlock it. “Um, what’s your--”

“Here,” the guy fucking _reaches over_ again, pressing his thumb to the base of the screen but _all Isak can focus on is how warm his sleeve is against his forearm,_ “Sorry, I… didn’t know how to avoid that-- are you alright?”

“Hm?” Isak’s voice is a little higher pitched than he means for it to be, and he wants to badly to cringe when Even’s feature grow somehow _softer_ in concern. He forces himself to maintain eye contact, though, the heat from the vents making this a little too unbearable, and jesus, why’s he such a mess, it’s just--

“Isak?” The weird part is that Isak can _see_ how much the other boy wants to reach out. He can actually _see_ in Even’s expression that he--

“Can you, just. Do whatever you want to do? I can see you’re struggling,” He wants to laugh, he really does, but it comes out so much waterier than maybe either of them needed,

“I don’t want you to start hyperventilating, but…” Even’s eyes are flicking everywhere, and Isak shrugs.

“I’m not actually-- here,” and he--

Isak’s not… _germaphobic,_ necessarily, that much he knows about himself. Sure, he hates feeling dirty, hates when other things might be dirty, but Petersen was quick to just remind him its a factor of his OCD. He also doesn’t hate contact. He’s just come to associate a lot of it with… uh.

Not the kind of motions he’s making right now, or the ones Even is making? Not the ones where he sets the phone down gently on the console, Spotify opened to a playlist he tried not to notice called [_hide & seek_](https://open.spotify.com/user/xxlevibech/playlist/5A1cwgkEcIQDMmY8zg3w8J) as he reached out with a pair of shaky palms and the ones where Even is leaning forward, where he’s letting _Isak_ take the lead like he _knows what’s up?_ It’s the second time he’s acted like that tonight and honestly it’s really fucking scary because what-- why is he so-- 

Isak’s known him for maybe an hour and something feels so inexplicably right about wrapping his arms over Even’s shoulders that for a second he forgets, it completely slips that the last time he was held was when his father was holding him against the floor. 

It’s still forgotten when Even’s grip, much stronger than Isak guessed it to be, is holding him right back across that center console. It’s still forgotten when he notices Even’s heart is beating just as fast as his, and his mind goes blank when he hears Even huff a smile.

“Not actually what?” Even’s mumbling, probably trying to tug Isak somehow closer, and Isak _really_ can’t not--

“You’re warm,” He mumbles back instead of an actual answer, and it’s only right then that he notices how close his lips are to Even’s ear, which makes Even’s little start make so much more sense that he almost laughs. 

“Sorry, er. I’m not actually weird about-- I just-- need to be able to tell what you’re doing when you do stuff. I’m okay with being touched, I just…”

“Germ thing, too?”

“Dirt thing… I think.”

He can tell Even wants to ask, and he’s infinitely thankful when he doesn’t.

***

“So you’ve seen me at Nissen.”

“I’ve seen you at Nissen.” Even answers, nodding once as he looks out over the road. “I almost didn’t recognize you without a beanie, or something.”

“Wow,” Isak leans back in the seat as he scrolls through the assortment of playlist on the other boy’s phone. 

“No, really. You have nice hair, you should wear it like this more often.” He can see Even wink at him out of the corner of his eye, and really, Isak wants to laugh, he _really_ does, but he’s not about to seem easy. He opts for rolling his eyes, and that gets him a little huff of laughter from Even.

“Where’d you transfer from? You said you--”

“Yeah, uh,” Even shrugs. “Bakka. Lot of stuff happened.”

Okay, so. Clearly he’s not about to talk about it. Isak can understand that.

“Alright,” He gives him a lighter shrug, and is pleased to see the tension faze out of Even’s jaw. “More importantly, do you even _have_ a playlist without Ed Sheeran?”

“Excuse me?” He balks, and alright, Isak’s gotta laugh there. Oops. “He's _great,_ Isak.”

“He’s fine.” He shrugs again, and Even’s so indignant that Isak has to laugh again. He doesn’t know if Even can tell what he’s thinking, but he’s pretty damn sure the guy is on the right track. He puffs his lips out and furrows his eyebrows, and somehow. 

It’s even cuter. God damnit.

“Off topic, but, uh,” Even flashes him a glance. Isak lifts a brow in response. “So you’re _not_ with Eva Mohn? You know the rumor mill is saying that she cheated on that guy Jonas with you, and… that you ended their relationship, and stuff?”

Isak nods slowly, a little smile creeping over his face. He doesn’t _want_ to accuse Even of being jealous, but…

“Ohhh,” He draws it out. “I see, I see. No, we’ve never been together. She and Jonas broke up and I, uh. Was… sort of in the middle of it, sure, but there was no hooking up and there was no… anything, actually. She’s actually in limbo with Chris Schistad, but that’s another story. Her and Jonas broke up. A little while later, there was an… accident. Eva started pretending to be my girlfriend. All of us are in on it. We all know.”

Even hums thoughtfully. “So no one… special, right now?”

Isak goes for it. Wink and everything. “Not unless you want there to be.”

Seeing Even try to bite back a smile (and fail) makes Isak’s whole night worth it.

***

_(03:02) you and your sleeves have been on my mind all night_

Jesus. Isak cracks a weak smile from where he's sitting on his mattress, unlocking his phone with his free hand and setting it to be propped up against his laptop screen.

He doesn't get the chance to reply. 

_(03:03) wait. are you awake? Isak what the heck it's 3_

_(03:05) I was gonna say “is that dirty talk”  
(03:05) I do homework on Saturday nights_

It's not really a lie. He's actually trying to get work done. He figured as long as he'd had acute pain running through his wrist to keep him awake, he might as well try to use the time to get something done. Even if it is with his off hand, a makeshift ice pack taped to the right one.

_(03:05) are you really that person_

_(03:06) I'm absolutely that person_

It takes a minute, but it's about a minute too much for Isak to convince himself Even was going to make fun of him. He'd already started spiraling when his phone pinged again -- well, no, three, four times in quick succession -- He denies the call as quickly as it began, flashing Even another message.

_(03:09) I can’t talk on the phone, it might wake up my parents_

_(03:09) i’ll be quiet :(_

He can’t help pursing his lips for a moment, cradling his phone to his chest as he tried to bite back a smile from… no one in particular. It’s not like anyone could see him. It’s also… Three. And his parents… are probably asleep.

_(03:13) i can’t talk much, if you raise your voice i’m hanging up_

_(03:14) !!!_

He’s able to shove in his headphones before Even’s call can come through, and he can’t decide if it’s anxiety or excitement making his throat sear. When the phone does ring, he really _does_ want to play hard to get, but like… This is a little too new and exciting to consider it. 

He ends up tapping the FaceTime button on the second ring, hearing the little connection hum rattle in his ears.

The worst part is that Even is _hot?_

Like. Somehow, this version, where he’s bed-tousled and his hair is sort of all over the place, where his pinky is digging at his eye and he’s dimly lit by what Isak thinks has to be his own laptop screen?

It’s weirdly intimate for the seven hours this friendship has existed.

“Hi,” Even says, grin as cheeky as it can get for this early in this morning. He runs a palm over his eye. Isak knows he’s staring, but like. Is he gonna stop?

“What’s that smile?” Even asks then, and, yeah, maybe he will stop staring. Until Even looks away. He shrugs in response, holding a finger up to his lips to remind Even, like, _i can’t wake them up._ Even nods with his lips pursed, a little squint gracing his features alongside it. 

“I see,” He says slowly, slick smile returning like he can’t _help it_ and _wow_ Isak didn’t think he’d be ready to give this much to kiss it right off his lips. “What homework are you doing, then?”

“Bio stuff,” he murmurs, using the dicey grip his bad hand offers to hold up an open textbook. It sort of flops over, and he lets it crash back onto the mattress in favor of keeping his wrist from bending the wrong way again.

“He speaks!” Even laughs a little, and Isak can’t help but return it. “What do you have on your hand, a pillow or something?”

Isak shakes his head, holds up his hand. The tape is coming loose where the condensation from the bag is ruining the bind, but it’s still keeping it numb? He’s not about to take it off. “Jeez, what happened? You didn’t have that on earlier, right?”

He glances back up at Even to answer, ready to give him a half-truth about how he landed on it wrong and how it’d been messed up a couple months ago, so he probably just fucked with the healing process, but Even’s got something in his expression that makes the blistering feeling in Isak’s throat almost knock him back. 

“Don’t give me that,” Isak mumbles, looking down again. “I just. It wasn’t anything. It was already messed up.”

“What happened to make it worse? Do you need a brace, or anything?” Even scoots a little closer to his screen. Before Isak can really think about it, he’s scooting forward as well, the tape falling off with an easy tug.

“The swelling isn’t nearly as bad as it was,” He mumbles, turning it over so Even can see. “I did something to it back in May, I think landing on it wrong when I got out of the shower earlier wasn’t too good for it.”

Even’s eyes flash around the screen for a moment before he visibly swallows. “Uh… Isak?”

“Even?” He shoots back softly, lowering his wrist from the screen.

“I know we just met and stuff, but you don’t have to lie to me, yeah? I… Feel pretty close to you, if you know what I mean.”

The searing is badly replaced by something wintry, and. Well. Fuck.

“Yeah, you’ve… kind of established yourself as one of four people who know something about me, so I’d say we’re okay,” He tried to laugh, but he can immediately tell that’s not what Even really meant. So, he lets out a little sigh. “Okay, okay. I don’t want you to think I lie a lot--” _i do, but that’s not the point,_ “I just, uh. I’m used to coming up with excuses.”

“And you didn’t think I’d notice you definitely haven’t showered?” Even purses his lips out, trying to restore some playfulness to the situation.

“Oh my god, are you calling me dirty?”

“I’m saying your hair looks exactly the same as it did six hours ago,” Even’s laughing again, actually laughing, when there’s a curt knock on Isak’s bedroom door that has him jolting like it was a bee sting.

 _”Isak?”_ He whips his head around the see the door shift, like his father's pressing against it. He offers Even a guilty glance before ending the call and slamming his laptop shut, stuffing both devices beneath his pillow and bringing out his textbook in front of him again.

“Uh--” Something clicks on the other side of the door.

“Do you know what time it is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on another note:  
> \- i have a lot of this fic just sitting in my google drive. does updates every 3-4 days sound okay? like e.x. next update on Sunday?  
> \- if things ever get graphic... i'll be letting you know in the notes beforehand. no fear i am here  
> \- we'll keep on a'movin though, stick around!! <3  
> [find me here!](http://lachesisrn.tumblr.com/)


	4. IV (like dreaming of angels)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next one on Wednesday...?
> 
> so i don't know how obv this is -- i'm trying to frame it a little bit like a Skam season, where it's little clips that add to the plot? um. if you guys wanna see a little filler (which i'm absolutely willing to write, i have 1001 little things i could just be slipping in to this universe courtesy of Spencer) please let me know?? i love writing this and i love you guys reading/reacting to it, it really really does help me get out of bed in the morning.

“I’m not going to the hospital,” he muttered, arms cradled under his chest as he lied stomach-down on Eva’s sofa. “I just need to… lay here. For a while. I’ll be gone before you get back.”

“Isak,” she sighed, sitting on the floor near his head. He peeled open an eye to glance at her, decidedly ignoring the pins and needles in his diaphragm when he noticed how watery her eyes were. “You have to tell Olsen about this, y’know?”

He nodded against the sofa. She let out another little sigh. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.”

“Then…” He shrugged, turning his head properly to face her. “Can I, like, go downstairs or something? Where you know I can’t leave? You and the girls can hang out up here… I’ll sleep downstairs.”

Her gaze lingered over him for a second before she nodded, scooting away so he could roll off properly. 

Following ten minutes of _Isak, you can just lay on my bed, it’s not that big of a deal,_ that’s exactly where they found themselves. Eva was sitting up against her headboard, right leg bent off the side of her mattress as she pulled open her laptop.

“We can just Netflix it up until the others get here, yeah? I won’t mention to them that you’re here, you’ll be able to sleep.”

“Don’t tell Jonas, either.” He settled back against her pillows easily enough. She quirked a brow at him, but let it go just as quickly. “I don’t need him freaking out about something else.”

“It’s gonna be pretty hard to hide your arms.”

“I have sleeves.”

“You need a wrist brace, Isak. When we’re out I’ll try to find you one. What do you wanna watch?”

She slid it between them, twisting it a little so Isak could see it from where he lied on his side.

_”Oh, so you’re a movie snob?” Isak laughed, pulling his knees up to sit criss-cross in the passenger seat._

_“I think I just appreciate cinema more than you… or… most others.”_

_“Yeah? You have a favorite director?” Even shot Isak a look of exasperation, like, of_ course _he does, right?_

_“You ever seen The Get Down, on Netflix? The guy who made that. Absolute genius.”_

“Have you ever seen The Get Down?” He asked, reaching out a limp arm to hover the touchpad for a moment. Eva nodded as if to say _it’s clean, you’re fine_ and really, he was _really_ thankful for her.

“Oh, that thing about the 80s?” Eva leaned over a little, wary of Isak’s personal space as he scrolled around. 

“I think it was the 70s. I heard it was pretty good, that, uh. The guy who directs it is a genius or something.”

“Baz Luhrmann?” She laughed, too close to Isak’s ear to save him from jumping a little. “Seriously? Who told you that?”

Isak clicked his tongue, trying to keep a smile from giving him away, but, like. Really. Eva’s intuitive as hell. Not only did she single-handedly predict Isak coming out, she was also the person to call him out for liking Jonas (privately, obviously), to predict Noora’s relationship with William going sky-high, and that her old roommate Eskild spent some time as a drag queen.

For what she’s worth, she’s good at just… Knowing. Isak thinks about it a lot. Especially right now, when she’s jumping backward and rolling around to lie on her own side and see Isak properly. Especially right now, when her grin was so bright, Isak briefly wondered if it was a little artificial. Not that he’d ever ask.

“Was it your mystery man? Oh, look at you!” She squealed as Isak palmed his own face in an effort to hide his own giggles at her excitement. “Will you tell me about him now?”

“Eva,” He groaned, smile splitting his face. Like he could hide it. Who was he kidding. “If I tell you, you can’t tell Vilde, okay? I don’t want her stalking him around the school.”

“He goes to school with us?” She gasped, propping herself on her elbow. “What’s his name? What’s he look like?”

“He…” He debated for a moment, wondering how exactly _to_ describe someone like that. “His name’s Even? He’s a third year, just transferred in this year…”

She shrugged in response, pursing out her lips in thought. “He’s _really_ tall? Blond? Eyes like the _fucking_ ocean, jesus christ, it’s unbelievable?”

“Do you have a photo of him?” She leaned in a little closer, expecting Isak to pull out his phone, but. He, uh.

“Let me… ask him for a selfie, or something,” He tugged it out, opening it up for the first time that morning to see-- “Oh my god,”

“What?” Eva raised her eyebrows, and Isak flipped his phone around for her to see.

_(03:19) your eyes are so green  
(03:19) no wonder you like space so much i’m pretty sure you were born in the saturn nebula_

He cradled it back against his face to mask a blush, but he guessed it wasn’t working that well, if Eva’s cooing had anything to say about that.

“At three? What?”

“We were FaceTiming,” he mumbled, typing out a quick message. “He was awake for some reason. I was doing homework. Nothing special.”

“You got him with _space talk,_ Isak. He’s a keeper. I can already tell.”

“Shut up,” He smiled against his phone again as he sent the messages.

_(08:58) if that’s your idea of sweet talk…  
(08:59) can you send me a photo to use as your contact photo_

“There… see if he replies.” 

“Is he nice?” She asked, rolling over to put her chin in her palms. 

“He's… something else. He's really chill, but he seems excitable, y'know? It was weird. Like. I had only known the guy for ten minutes, but he asked for my phone number and it was so _natural,_ I felt like. I feel like I've known him for years. Especially when we were talking in his car. It wasn't awkward. It was just… natural.”

“Isak Valtersen,” Eva whispered through her fingers, teasing smile playing on her lips. “You're so whipped, oh my god.”

“Whipped!” He balked. “I am not! I was just saying that I felt close with him!”

“You're whipped!” She smiled again, jerking back to avoid his swatting hand. She pointed at his phone screen as it lit up with a message notification from _Even trygstyd._ “That the photo?”

Isak rolled a little to unlock it, breath seizing in his throat when [he opened the attachment.](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/342273640420621729/)

“Shit, man,” He breathed, sliding it down the mattress for Eva to see. “He gets prettier every time I see him.”

“Oh, wow,” She leaned over to see it, careful not the touch the screen. “Even, you said? He's…really handsome, actually. I don't think I've seen him before, but I’d _like_ to.”

***

“Something you’d like to share with the class?” His mom asked, leaning over the counter as she forked a slice of carrot between her teeth. Isak looked up from his spot on the sofa. He pursed his lips out, shook his head, but she looked like she wasn’t gonna have it. “Something must be funny over there.”

“Uh,” alright, here we go? “One of the guys at the group therapy thing, he… he goes to school with me, I know him. He’s a third year. We were joking about…” He shrugged. 

“Like, the group leader. She… he’s pretty sure she was making eyes at me, he’s just messing with me.” It wasn’t a total lie, really. Bodil had kept glancing his way, and apparently often enough for Even to notice and then _say_ something, nonetheless. But it definitely wasn’t _attraction._

“Yeah? She cute?” She asked, this time just plucking the carrot with her fingers. Isak shrugged.

“She’s, like… ten years older than me. And she’s _engaged,_ we have no idea what she’s about. That’s kind of the joke.” 

“What’s she like?”

“What, do you want me to _pursue_ her?” 

“I’m just wondering, Isak!” She reeled a little, everything at once making Isak stiffen. Not like she noticed. She started for the other side of the counter, and _jeez_ , can Isak just have _one moment,_

He stood from the sofa faster than she could get around, scooting himself around the back of it towards the hallway that led to his room. Marianne eyed him dubiously. “What?”

“I… homework,” He tried. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and tried, like, he really _really_ tried, _please,_ to make it look inconspicuous, but who was he to ever get away with anything?

***

Sometimes.

When… things happen. When he stares at the bathroom mirror for too long, the blood in his veins icey enough to make him catatonic. When the ringing in his ears is just some semblance of his mother’s voice. 

Isak will sleep on the floor of his closet. Duvet laid across his shoes to shield the discomfort, headphones making the edges of the sliding door cloudy. Other times… he'll crack open his window. And take a walk. 

He takes a lot of walks. Joint between his lips, headphones blaring, cuffs of his hoodie fisted in his pockets. No socks, no shirt beneath. If it's raining, it's better for some reason. And things are just quiet outside his labored breathing, outside of Eazy E. 

It's quiet because it's 00:02 and. Isak's really fucking tired. He's perched on a park bench and his joint is growing thin. He doesn't really think to… talk to anyone about it. Never really wanted to. 

Not because, he… not because he’s making an effort to keep it a secret, necessarily. He just doesn’t want people poking around in his business where he finds them unwelcome. If Mahdi wanted to come up to him, demanded an honest answer for why Isak’s jaw hurts too much to speak or why he always has back up hand sanitizer, he’d be honest. _I don’t get along with my parents._ Easy. Because he knows Mahdi fucking knows him, and knows not to push.

Unless he thinks you should be involved… you’re not gonna be involved. That’s another reason why he’s not gonna do so well with _trygstyd_ , but… whatever, right?

That was beside the point-- right now it's 00:02 on a Monday morning, and his good thumb is hovering over a keyboard. He’s opened Even’s inbox maybe seven or eight times since he’s taken off. He’s not really looking to go off about his problems, but. He just.

_(19:34) maybe you actually see me this time ;)_

Is what the last message reads.

He wants the company. More than he’s willing to admit.

 _(00:04) you awake_

He tries. Not anticipating a reply. But… Even. 

_(00:08) I don't sleep cause sleep is the cousin of death_

Isak barks out a laugh from his perch, startling his own self when it echoes around the trees briefly. He takes a moment to recuperate as he snubs out the joint on the wooden frame.

“I don't know what I expected you to say,” Isak says as the other boy picks up the phone, a soft inhale giving him away before he can even say hello. “You're like one of those dark, fractured characters you see in—”

“If you fucking say Nicolas Cage,” Even’s laugh is spluttering against the receiver. It makes Isak's own smile split his cheeks. “You're dead to me.”

“I think I'm, like, halfway there,” Isak tries to joke back, but he can hear Even’s breath start. 

“Yeah?” His tone turns soft. “How's your hand? We didn't get to really—”

“I think I need to see a doctor, honestly, but I'm really not about the make the trip to the ER.” He admits. Isak really isn't sure where the courage came from, but. If he can keep going.

And if Even doesn't…

 _when it rains, it pours,_ his inner Petersen whispers, and suddenly he wishes he were at the bottom of that storm drain. 

“Wh— Isak, what happened? Do you need me to, like, come get you, or…?” 

“I… I'll be fine, honestly.” He picks at his own sleeve after cradling the phone between his shoulder and cheek. He hears Even shuffling for a moment before his breathing becomes a little more labored. 

“Where are you?” 

“Home,” he lies easily, closing his eyes. The shuffling stops for a second.

“Isak?” There was no reason to lie in the first place, Isak was the one who fucking _reached out,_ but there's that fucking tone again? Like Even… fucking _knows,_ or something, and it's not like Isak would mind he if did? But? He only met the guy two days ago. And here he is. Acting like they're something other than– than– 

“Slottsparken,” he grits out, looking around like Even would appear out of thin air. It _sounds_ like he’s about to. “I was—”

“What are you— can I come pick you up?”

“Even, why do you sound like you're running a marathon?” 

The motion on the other boy’s end of the receiver ceases again, and Isak immediately feels like a stern mother finding their child up to no good. It makes something sour flower in his stomach. 

“I… can I come pick you up?” He asks a little slower, a little more level. “I don't want you to be alone.”

It takes almost a half hour for Isak to see headlights flooding the park. Even circled around twice as Isak made his way to the curb, the lamps probably making him look ghostly. If the expression Even’s got on says anything, it's that. He also looks pretty gauntly himself, under eye bags something violet when Isak climbs in. His eyes are a little bloodshot. It sort of makes the younger boy wonder if he's been crying. 

“Isak,” he says, voice completely shot. “Your thumb is like… completely purple.” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. He holds it up and rolls his sleeve back a tad, letting Even get a better glance at the bandaging Eva forced upon him earlier. “I think it's the cold. It wasn't this bad earlier.”

“What happened?” Even asks again. Isak notices how badly he wants to reach out, fingers clenching and unclenching from where he's shoving them under his thighs. 

Just for a second. He kind of wants to let him. 

It's replaced just as quickly by the fact that Isak has no idea when Even washed his hands last, when he washed the sweatpants he's wearing or clipped his nails— 

“You know when, um,” he murmurs, rolling his sleeve back down. “When people hold your arm behind your back to get you to do what they want? Like— Biff in Back To The Future. That scene outside his car at the dance.”

“I do,” Even replies, voice as soft as his eyes. Isak swallows without looking at him.

“And you know when his mom says, like, ‘don't, you'll break his arm,’ stuff? She's being serious. That’s how you break an arm. When you try to pull your arm out of their grip… you fuck up your wrist real nice.”

“Who?”

“And, uh. I shouldn't…” he offers Even an apologetic glance. “I'm not supp— when you roll your arm out, they get pretty fuckin’ mad, Even.”

“Isak?”

“And it’s not the first time they get that mad. They get mad a _lot._ It starts to make you wonder why you come home, if-- if they're just gonna see you and… hurt… you. So when you start wondering more and more often… you take walks at midnight.” He glances around Even’s changing expression, as it goes from confusion to discomfort to empathy. To a lot of empathy. To a _lot_ of empathy.

“And then…” Even swallows, opening his mouth to say something, but Isak beats him to it. 

“And then a really cute boy comes and picks you up. And you wanna say something. You wanna say so _much._ But you’ve never really thought about saying something before, so you--” He swallows, “So you haven't really thought about what to do when he looks this _sad.”_

Even takes a moment to watch Isak, clearly having trouble formulating words. It’s right then that Isak can sort of see it -- if only for a moment, he can see something other than the exterior Even plays in to. He can see something tainted. And… _scared._ He’s not about to call Even out, wouldn’t dare to do it when they barely know each other like this, but briefly…

“You… you should let this guy take you back to his place,” Even says, eyes trained on Isak's fingernails as they pull at loose threads. “He knows it's not, like, the nicest place. But he has fresh sheets and really wants you to get some sleep before both of you go to school tomorrow.”

“Maybe he should get some sleep, too.”

 _”Maybe_ he's got other things to worry about,” Even smiles, and he's— the cuff of his hoodie is pulled around his finger as he _boops_ Isak's nose, sending Isak's reeling for a moment—

“Oh my god, you,” Isak's laughing, palm coming up to cover his nose. It was a move to change the subject, and he sees that, but he can’t bring himself to call Even on it. “You totally took my move. That's definitely my thing.” 

“Your nose is so goddamn cute, I—”

Isak’s own finger reaches out then, clothed and as sterile as he's always been okay with, when he taps Even’s nose right back. “See? My move.”

Even doesn't move as he stares openly. 

“Where did you even come from? What the heck,” and for a moment, Isak can almost see the hearts in his irises.

“Well, Even, when two people love each other very much—” He giggles, stopping when Even throws his head back in an exaggerated groan. “I like it when you smile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [still here on tumblr](http://lachesisrn.tumblr.com) ;)


	5. V (i know how much it matters to you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re-uploaded because Ao3 ate it the first time.
> 
> so i'm gonna stick this at the beginning!! but uh!! i was so nervous to see the reaction to the last chapter because i. somehow feel worse and worse about each chapter that i post, and i avoided it like the plague for like 36 hours but. you _guys_ i really did start, still sort of am, crying when i read all your wonderful words. it means so much to me and i really hope you guys continue to love reading this as much as i love writing it.
> 
> i love you all. like i really really do.

Isak can feel Jonas’s eyes burning into the side of his head as he stands in they stand in the courtyard. They’re in a sort of half circle, Mahdi and Magnus still raving (or, as well as they can with Mahdi’s _”everlasting hangover”)_ about the party following Eva’s pregame. Isak’s nodding along with his lips pursed in a smile, his work downright _valiant_ in avoiding looking to his friend.

“You should have _seen_ her legs, man! I didn’t know people could bend that way!” Magnus runs his palms down his face a little too dramatically for 8:00, but it’s… not like they’re about to cut him off. It’s kind of funny hearing him retell these sorts of stories.

But, of course. There’s an elbow in Isak’s ribs, and it makes him start (it was barely noticeable, bless their hearts) as he twists to give Jonas a glare. Which. Jonas is returning. Cool.

“Fuck happened to your wrist?” Jonas’s voice is accusatory, using his elbow to gesture towards the navy blue splint poking out from Isak’s sleeve. Isak tugs it down a little for good measure before he crosses his arms. “Did your dad--”

 _”Jesus,_ Jonas,” He hisses, flashes a glance to the other boys, who, as he feared, were looking back at them. Isak felt an ache bloom behind his eyes. _Fuck._

“Yeah, man,” Magnus asks. He turns over his palm in his own weak gesture. “I saw that when you got here. What happened?”

“I…” He shrugs, pulling his arms in tighter despite the pain. “My… I slipped when I got out of the shower, just landed wrong. It’s fine, really.”

“And you went to the hospital for it?” Because, yeah, of course Jonas would fucking ask, because he fucking _knows_ Isak avoids ERs like the plague. Fuck this.

“No, actually, I didn’t,” he bites back, and he can see the other two boys recoil a little bit from the corner of his eye. Isak doesn’t particularly care. It’s not like they know anything other than what they have to, and alongside Isak’s intentions to keep it that way, there’s no reason they shouldn’t believe what he’s saying right now. So he ignores it. Ignores it like he-- “A friend gave it to me yesterday.” _Last night, at two when he dragged me into his house and let me change the sheets because he doesn’t get upset when I have fits-- when he lied on the couch underneath his loft bed where he asked me a thousand times just to please lay down and it was so nice and it didn’t feel bad when his pillow smelled like shampoo and pot-- ___

“And you’re… using someone else’s clothes?” Jonas rips him from his trance, and it _actually_ makes Isak jump that time. It makes the aching behind his eyes turn into a gnarly burn. 

“Why do you have a problem, Jonas?” _Even let me wash it myself in the sink, because he gets it,_

“I don’t, man! I’m just worried about you!” Isak’s demeanor melts a little bit, and he can tell Jonas sees it. But he’s not about to say anything to give himself away in front of the other boys. 

“Because I fell out of the shower?” 

”Because,” Jonas winks. Winks? Wh-- “It’s bad enough that you need a brace.” 

Oh. Oh _shit._

Isak shrugs it off in that moment, but he knows the conversation isn’t over. He knows it as he walks away, sits through his classes, and makes it to the canteen during lunch hour. Knows it as he studies Even’s messages from passing times. He’d dropped Isak off at his own home around 5:00, letting him run inside to brush his teeth and change his clothes before sprinting back out with his backpack. 

“Thank you,” He’s said, and Even gave him this little dopey smile that made something straight up _melt_ in Isak’s chest. A puddle of feelings. As deep as the ocean in Even’s eyes. It was so great. 

When they’d parted at the school grounds, Even sent him a message almost immediately. Isak’s read it about a hundred times. 

_( **I dag** 7:44) our little secret. ;) _

“So, uh,” He sits back, shoving his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his heathered hoodie. He bites at his lips as Jonas studies him from across their table during lunch. “Dad got mad. As he does. You know. I just took a walk and called Eva, she said Sana had a spare one from when she sprained her wrist playing basketball a few years ago. I was a little pissed off that it fit,” He tried to laugh as Jonas’s expression changed into something considerably more understanding. 

“You didn’t call me?” Jonas quirked a brow as he popped a grape between his teeth. “I could have picked you up, or something.” 

“It was at, like, two o’clock, man. You’re pretty awful when you first wake up. I knew Eva would have been cramming for something.” He feels bad for lying, he really does. But there are some secrets… He wants to keep. It makes a little smile fit over his cheeks, but Jonas doesn’t say anything. He probably thinks it’s about his smart ass comment, but. 

“...Yeah,” Jonas eventually huffs a laugh. “Okay, you have a point. Thanks for telling me, man.” 

Isak can barely register that he should nod when a snapback -- maroon and uncomfortably familiar, lands in his lap. 

“Hey,” and well, fuck, “You forgot this.” 

His gaze snaps up and yep, Even somehow gets prettier every time Isak sees him, but his brain is also at 112% capacity when he-- 

“What?” He asks dumbly, knowing exactly what Even’s talking about. He took off his hat to sleep last night, easily forgot it in Even’s car again, and now-- 

“In the cafeteria?” Even quirks a brow. Thank fucking christ for this guy. 

“Oh,” He lets out a shaky laugh, and he can tell Even thinks he’s uncomfortable. He kind of is, but even Jonas isn’t too keen on Isak’s mannerisms, and he’s barely known Even for four days? Uh? “Thanks, man. Do I know you, though? How did you know this was mine?” 

Even’s brows lift then in surprise, before quickly realizing it was kind of a game. Their… secret game. If he dares call it such. 

“You don’t know _me?”_ Even claps a hand to his chest, and Isak wants to laugh _so bad._ He can feel Jonas’s eyes on him again, this time in a little more confusion than suspicion. He shakes his head instead, pursing his lips out in feigned loss. He can tell Even wants to smile, too, as he bites his lip back. “Well, I guess you will soon, Isak Valtersen.” 

“Wh--” He snorts. “How do you know my name? Hey!” Even turns on his heel too quickly for him to answer, clapping a palm against his mouth as he walks away. Isak can see him laughing to himself as he pulls out his phone on the way out of the canteen, and sure enough, Isak’s phone buzzes a moment later. 

_(11:22) “man?” is that all i am to you?_

_(11:22) ;)_

***

Tuesday’s on Isak’s heels like wolves. He just sort of wants them to tear out the tendon, at this point; Bodil had said they’d pick up where they’d left off, meaning that Isak would be one of the first people to talk this time. That alone was horrifying (all the eyes?? no thanks my dude), but having to talk about something he’d never-- that he doesn’t want-- 

He runs a palm over his face as he sits on the tram, willing the anxiety flourishing in his chest to just fucking _go away, please, i don’t need this right now--_

He leans back a little further to stare at the railing on the ceiling. Everything ached at the prospect of doing this, but. Here he was. Getting ready to pop off at his stop. Where’d he’d walk two blocks and take a right, third door down. Walk upstairs. Open a door, and take a fucking seat. 

Oh, jesus. The only door he wanted to open was the one to his bedroom. 

But here he was, pushing down the door handle with his elbow and walking in sideways. Bodil’s eyes met his almost instantly. He’d arrived so much later this time that she was probably surprised he even showed. He gave her a meager smile as he took his sheet, and she handed him the sign-in sheet with one in return.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Isak,” she said, returning to her seat at the head of the circle. He nodded towards her back, eyes drifting towards the left to see if--

Yeah.

Even’s eyes were sweeping over him like he was _hungry_ or something and it’s not-- it wasn’t-- he-- like. It wasn’t uncomfortable. But this was not the kind of warmth Isak was accustomed to feeling in his stomach. He searched around Even’s own appearance for a second before their gazes met, and. Damn. Isak feels guilty for wishing he could live inside those irises.

There was a good eight or nine seconds of open staring before Even’s singular blink brought him out of it, quirking a smile to fill it where his own reaction had been missing. 

He’d actually spent sleepless nights from this week sort of considering what to share, because… He’s not necessarily competitive (not when it comes to this shit, anyway, why would he… why would he even want to have it the worst. what?), but he also didn’t think simply telling the group about a typical day at Casa De Valtersen would work out. The others in the groups rehashed moments that _hurt,_ things that… that maybe if they said them out loud, it wouldn’t keep festering. That sharing them would kinda be like popping the blister. At least, that’s how Bodil phrased it.

So, Isak tried to… come up with something that he felt similarly about. The guy two seats down from him continued and told about a new incident concerning his sleep paralysis problems post-assault. The guy directly next to him used a _lot_ of tissues describing how he had to leave a restaurant in the middle of the date because hearing the clattering from the kitchen became so overwhelming, he had a panic attack in the parking lot. How he left immediately after that, completely standing up his date, and hasn’t spoken to her since. 

When people finally turned to Isak, he could feel himself break into a sweat. A lot of people from last week looked at a spot on the ground while they talked, so… guess what he was about to try.

“Uh,” he said dumbly, swallowing harshly before daring to glance around again. “I’ve… I’m not used to talking about any of this, so… bear with me.”

There was a click to his left, like something clucking their tongue in admonishment. It almost made him want to get up, to fucking leave right there, like how _dare_ you, i’m _sorry_ for not being used to open up, _jesus,_ but.

When he looked? It was just Even. With his fucking _eyes._

“I don’t think I realized how much of a tag-team my sister and I were until she was gone,” He found himself saying. Even furrowed his brows. “When… when our father would come home after work, we’d sit, uh. Our room were parallel to each other. If we both had our door open and sat at the head of our beds, we could see each other perfectly. We’d keep the doors open all the time, even at night. Just in case.

“When our father would come home, we’d both immediately get to the top of our beds and wait to see… like… how hard his steps were, and how fast he was walking, if that makes sense? If he starts coming directly for our rooms, she’d dive into my room and we’d shove my nightstand against the door and sit in my closet until he went to bed. It _literally_ did not matter what the other person was doing. 

“If… he was stomping, or he started yelling at mom, or… yeah. If he was upset when he got home, we’d barricade ourselves in my room. We almost never went into her room because we both couldn’t fit in her closet, and her nightstand was a lot farther from the door. 

“And, uh…” He sucked in a sharp breath before he looked to the ceiling again. “One time, it was the middle of the night, and she came into my room and locked the door. She asked me why I didn’t talk to mom anymore, and I told her it was because mom was scary. I was… like, eight, I think? And Lea was fourteen. She asked _why_ mom was scary, and I didn’t know why. I said, like, she yells a lot and is really boney, it makes her look like Norma Bates. And Norma Bates was fucking _terrifying._ She said that mom also scared her really bad, too, and that… we should talk to her about it.

“Nine years later, I know it was because Lea wanted to tell mom that dad was even scarier. We knew mom thought he was scary, too, because he hit her and she cried a lot. I think Lea thought mom would want to do something about it. I don’t think Lea knew mom was sick.

“That’s beside the point, though-- um. One day, I got home late. We were gonna talk to mom that day, but I missed the bus and had to wait with my friend for his mom to come get us, but she was running late, too, and-- once I got home, dad was already home.” 

Isak rolled his head down again, scanning the group. All their eyes were a little shaky with anticipation, like he was telling them about a really good movie, and it. That burned. Bad.

He focused on the ground instead. “Lea had the talk with mom without me. When I got home, Lea had locked herself in the bathroom, dad screaming at her through the door that he was gonna knock it down and she wasn’t gonna see the light of day again, or… Whatever. I told him to leave her alone, and he…” 

Isak picked up a weakly clenched fist and knocked into his chin, like some poor threat to whoever caught his eye. “It knocked me back into the sofa, and Lea came out of the bathroom, and…”

He clenched his eyes shut, rubbing his palms over them hastily. “Um, actually. I don’t know if I can tell this, thinking about it too hard makes me all emotional, and you guys don’t know me well enough to see me cry,” He tried to joke, but was met with uncomfortable silence.

“You can do it, Isak,” Bodil murmured eventually. “We’re all here for you.”

 _The fuck you are,_ the bitter part of him thought. He only shrugged in response.

“Okay, I…” He trailed off again with another shrug, curling his hands inside his hoodie. “My dad knocked Lea against the wall so hard she didn’t get up. For, like. A solid three minutes.” His tone was clipped, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. If it was gonna keep him from tearing up like a fucking idiot in front of fourteen other people... This was fine.

“I was yelling at him, he was yelling at me, and then he actually _picked me up_ and _threw me_ into my room. I was eight years old. It wasn’t hard. I couldn’t get the door open. That was the last time I saw my sister. Next time I could get in a word in edgewise to ask about her… she was going to school in Hammerfest. For all I know, she’s still there.”

“What?” A third voice said, someone Isak completely didn’t recognize. She leaned forward on her elbows. “That was… the last time? Ever?”

“I heard from her a lot-- we exchanged letters for a little while before dad found out about that one too. And--” _and he held me against the wall, threatened to kill me if I ever heard her preaching the devil’s word again, and when I tried to break away, he put me on crutches._

He would have said it. Had Even not seemed so misty-eyed in the corner of his eye. “And… after that… I haven’t heard from her, no. That was almost… like… two years ago?”

“Oh my god, Isak,” Bodil breathed. His gaze snapped back to her, and her own was bloodshot. “I… I’m so sorry.”

If that didn’t solidify she knew something he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what else would. He kind of wanted to call her out, but…

He only shrugged. That was enough for tonight.

And maybe it took another forty minutes for the group the roll on, but Isak fazed himself out so easily it hardly seemed like five. Even was getting up before he could really register it, pacing towards him and getting down on his knee to meet Isak at eye-level. Isak slouched back further in his chair, half-inviting Even to come crawl between his knees. It’s not like he’d actually take the invitation. It was just… Nice to think about the idea.

“Can I drive you home again tonight?” He asks neatly, tilting his head a little and Isak’s eyes definitely didn’t follow the little fly away in his hair, what are you talking about?

“You… yeah, you can.” Isak returns his little smile. Something glows in Even’s cheeks when he stands back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, at 15:00 today: oh sdlkgfhdfg i need to post chapter 5 as soon as i get home  
> my car, thirty seconds later: dies on the main road
> 
> next one.... saturday. <3 i hope you enjoyed. [find me here!](lachesisrn.tumblr.com)


	6. VI (genius of love and loneliness and)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! i know i say this at like the beginning of every chapter, but i mean it more and more every time?? your reactions/feedback keep my world turning. it means _so much_ to me to hear from you guys, i love you all so much ♥♥♥（ﾉ´∀`）

“Remember how you told me you have to know what I’m doing, or…?” Even raised a brow as he held the door open for Isak. 

“I do,” He acknowledged, spinning around again when Even caught up in front of him to walk backward. “Why, what…?”

“I’m gonna tell you a story, yeah?” He tilted his head. It made Isak quit his pace. “I had a friend once, who… had a girlfriend.”

“Lucky guy.”

“Sure. But… his girlfriend… They couldn’t get married. She’s got royal family. Her parents are really serious about her blood staying pure, about her children's’ blood staying pure, so she’s got an arranged marriage to her second cousin who’s _eight years_ older than her. Pretty fucked up, right? She’s in love with my old friend, but it can never happen.”

“Are you any of these people?” Isak raised a playful brow, but Even wasn’t having it.

“Hush, kjære. Agnes, _yes,_ her name is _Agnes,_ stop looking at me like that,” He laughed as Isak gave him a baffled look. “ _Agnes_ didn’t care about bloodline shit, but her boyfriend did. He cared a lot. She was willing to completely give herself up to him, run away and to hell with everything else… but my friend… cared too much, I guess you could say.

“He left her. Tried to explain it could never be, he couldn’t do this to her, despite the fact that she wanted nothing to do with tradition and everything to do with him. But he still left. And it ended up… it hurt her so bad… she never got over it. I don’t think she still has. I haven’t seen her in a while. I’m pretty sure she’s already had her first baby with her cousin.”

Isak had stopped breathing somewhere around _kjære,_ actually, but now he couldn’t suck in air even if he wanted to. “Isak, what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t wait for a _chance_ to do something. You should just do it.”

“Why did you… tell me…” He asked quietly, searching Even’s gaze from beneath damp eyelashes. 

“I wanted to hold you the entire time you were talking. Can I do that now?” He asked, almost too quietly for Isak to hear, like the guy was _nervous_ or something, but he still found himself nodding.

So Even took three steps forward, tucking his arms beneath Isak’s and-- and Isak doesn’t really know what it was. Maybe the fact that he could feel Even’s heartbeat against his own again, or how Even’s breath tickled his neck. Maybe it was just the sheer emotion in Even’s voice when he spoke, or the fact that it shook Isak to his very core, or that Even was so misty when he talked about Lea, or just the fact that he talked about Lea in general, or, or--

“I’m not crying,” He muttered, using the edge of his sleeve from where it was wrapped around Even’s neck to scrub at his eyes. “I’m just in a weird mood.”

“Do you wanna go back to mine until you’re okay again?” Even asked quietly, and. Isak didn’t _immediately_ notice how he didn’t startle at the voice so close to his ear, but it was certainly one of his first thoughts.

Back _at_ Even’s was a weirdly similar story. How, just, how _close_ they were the entire time, as Isak sat on the kitchen counter as Even tossed fries into the oven _(“i don’t think I’ve eaten since lunch today and these take, like, ten minutes, do you care?")_ , as they sat on the floor in front of the sofa and watched old Friends reruns (listen, it’s not like anything else would be on at 21:00), as they joked and pointed out dumb things and just--

Isak was really mad at himself that he knew he was gonna spend a half hour scrubbing his hands when he got home, but he tried to bay the feeling in exchange for having Even’s fingers brush his when he plucked a fry or two from the plate every now and again. If only for now.

“Now, I’m gonna tell you another story. Okay?” Even said, dropping a fry into his mouth. 

“Is it gonna wreck me?”

“Nah, it’s chill. I have another friend. _Why do you--”_ Even’s laugh sputtered from his lips as he waved Isak off. “Why do you always look so shocked? I have friends, y’know.”

“Oh- _kay,_ whatever you say.” He teased as he leaned back against the sofa. Even rolled his eyes.

 _”Listen._ Whatever. My friend has a lot going on, right? But… shit’s been getting weird for him lately. He thought he was taking two steps forward, but he’s really just been taking two steps back, and it’s a big fuckin’ mess. He knows it now. But _look,_ look. Things are getting _weird._ He’s starting to deal with some things he hasn’t… dealt with in a long time. Didn’t want to deal with, initially, but now he’s welcoming it back in, and he isn’t sure what to do. 

“Well, no, he… Knows what to do. Or. At least… what he _wants_ to do. But he feels like he can’t.”

“That’s pretty fucked up, man,” Isak joked, earning him the most ridiculously exaggerated eye roll he could imagine. It made him laugh a little harder until Even was holding a finger to his lips, circling his hand in the air as if to say _my parents are sleeping, cool it._ “What’s he gonna do? Or…”

“He _wants_ to learn from Agnes,” Even said, quirking an eyebrow in… challenge? Isak wasn’t sure how to read it. “He _wants_ to just go for it. But he’s… worried… it’ll end up like the last time he tried to deal with it.”

“What happened last time?” Isak turned his body to match Even’s, so they faced each other properly-- only really separated by the plate between them. Even bit his lip, squinting in thought, like he… was considering if he should even tell Isak. 

“He…” Even exhaled slowly, seeming to lose himself in thought for a moment before returning back to Isak’s gaze. “He sorta… can we just say… the end result…”

“It didn’t work out?” Isak tried. He leaned his elbow on the cushion, supporting his cheek in his palm. Even nodded, blew out another breath. Silence hung over them as Even looked to the carpet.

“Well… _maybe,_ ” Isak breathed, “Maybe the pros outweigh the cons this time.”

“He’s pretty sure they do… But those cons still exist, y’know? And he isn’t sure if he can handle those cons… should they arise. Or. Yeah. Y’know? He’s just really stuck in his head about this whole thing.” Even shrugged and readjusted himself against the cushion.

“My mom used to tell me my thoughts would pour out of my ears if I kept thinking too hard.” Isak threw back another fry, keeping his gaze down.

“That’s pretty fucked up, man.” Even deadpanned, making Isak snap his head up in a laugh.

“Fuck you,” He giggled, tossing one of the soggier ones at Even and being decidedly _unimpressed_ when he caught it in his mouth. “I think your friend should go for it. At least he tried. At least he’ll know and won’t be stuck in limbo with one more thing, because… It sounds like he’s got a lot of other stuff going on.”

“This is one of the bigger things for him, actually,” Even chuckled sadly, and. Oh. _Oh._

“Even, are you this friend?” He asked softly, ducking down a little to catch his gaze again. Even met it gingerly, searching around Isak’s face.

“And if I am?” He asked quietly. Isak shrugged. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Isak tried to express the sincerity with his eyes. “But… also know… this is a two way street. You don’t have to lie.”

“Whole truth?”

“Even?”

“Hm?”

Isak couldn’t help it, maybe a little frantic as he moved the plate up to the sofa and scooted into Even’s space. He locked his arms around Even’s neck because _fuck,_ if he’s gonna be scrubbing himself down later, it might as well be his whole body. As much as he wishes he didn’t have to. 

He pulled Even against his chest. “This is weird, right? Real fuckin’ weird. But you said it first. We’re a little too connected a little too fast. So if you wanna keep the momentum going, I’m game.”

“You’re game?” Even quirked a brow. “You sure?”

“Maybe I won’t be in an hour, or maybe you can make it so that I don’t have to overthink it when you drop me off in an hour.”

“Bold tonight, are we? Okay,” Even teased, wrapping his arms around Isak’s waist again and shifting a little closer. “I’m gonna be right here, yeah? Our noses might touch.”

“Figures.” Isak noted to himself how fast they were talking, like the momentum in their friendship was suddenly physically hitting either of them. Not like he was about to mention it, though.

“My problem is that love is not in the cards for me. That’s what that story was about. I have a lot going on and sure maybe we can talk about it later, but long story short? Every time I try to deal with this stuff, it crashes and burns because I’m intense. You’ve probably noticed.”

“You’re pretty intense,” Isak agreed, smiling against Even’s little huff of laughter. 

“And then I gotta transfer schools because shit’s _fucked._ Irreparably. I get there and then this cute blond boy decides it’s okay to come to school looking fucking adorable, every single day, and suddenly I’m right back where I was like, a year ago, _pining._ And then he fucking _joins the therapy group_ I’ve been going to for _years._ And my dumb ass is sitting here like, jesus, this is _fate,_ right? And he’s responsive and so cute and then he mumbles that he hates being home, hates going home, and in my head I’m like _damn,_ maybe I can help? And then he gets in my car and gives me a hug when that sorta stuff is _clearly_ a problem for him? And I’m thinking like, _what if?”_

“What?” Isak was laughing. “What, what if he likes you back?”

“What if he decides he wants to keep me as much as I wanna keep him?” Even clarifies, and wow, Isak. Can’t breathe.

“Oh, he does,” He nods solemnly. “He does.”

“You barely know me, Isak.” His little sad laugh is back, and, oh, like _hell_ he’s not gonna fix that.

“Bullshit,” Isak furrows his brow. “I know you like Ed Sheeran, and this jean jacket you’ve got on is your favorite one? I know where you live and I know you play guitar, and I know you like to draw, and you’ve got a Nas poster on your bedroom wall, Even, so I know you like whatever that is. I know you smoke pot because your pillow smelled like it? I know you like to tell stories, and you told me that one on Friday, that you like studying film. You like cinematography more than you like breathing, and I know you’re repeating your third year, and I know you’ve got PTSD. I know you, Even. If anything, you don’t know _me.”_

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Even shakes his head a little in-- in desperation? Is that what-- “But Isak, I wanna learn _so badly.”_

***

“Do you… like, wear long sleeves under your hoodies, too?” Vilde asked, eraser between her lips. Isak frowned.

“More often than not?” He tried. He looked up from his textbook to give her a confused glance. “Why?”

“I was just curious.”

“Okay, Vilde.” 

Silence hung over them for a moment. Isak was able to finish two more pages of reading (although whether or not he actually consumed the material was another story) before Vilde’s tapping got the better of him. He looked up to give her a glare to find her staring right back at him.

“Uh--”

“You know what else I’m curious about?”

“...No?” He raised a brow, pulling his hood from his head and settling his hands between clamped thighs. She bit her lip.

“How did you know you were gay?” She asked lightly, leaning on her elbow as an afterthought. Isak raised his other brow. Sana looked up from her own notebook to give Vilde a curious glance, because _really?_

“Seriously?” He leaned back to match her scoff (of… embarrassment. Vilde was embarrassed. someone write it down). “I… Why?”

“Isak,” Sana murmured, but Vilde's voice overcast it.

“Because…” She searched around the table like it would give her something to fall back on, and it was right then that he caught Sana’s nose turned up. She knows something. Alright then.

“Do you, like, do you think one of your friends is gay, or something?” He tried, and she seemed to accept the excuse well enough. “Why don’t you just ask them?”

“You can’t just ask people that, Isak!”

“You _just_ asked him that though?” Sana leaned back in her own chair with her arms crossed over her chest, and Vilde’s cheeks lit up like a campfire. 

“It's just! Hard to accuse people of that sort of thing.” 

“People did it to me all the time?” Isak looked at her incredulously. “Including y— okay, you can _really_ tell by how they react to being called gay. Like. Number one give away.” He swiped his hand out to the right, palm flat as if to say _for real_ somehow, but Vilde still looked lost.

“Isak,” Sana warned again, and he turned to face her his time when Vilde started speaking again.

“But… what if you've seen them with… boyfriends, and stuff?”

“Like how Sara and Isak sucked face for sev–”

“Sana,” He groaned, rolling his head back in his chair. He looked up to find her smiling knowingly into her textbook, and if that wasn't just— “Yes, like that. Damn. I guess they could be bi, too, or whatever. Who do you think’s gay?”

“No one,” She startled, closing her own notes and stuffing them back into her bag. Isak raised a brow. “No worries. I'll see you later?”

“Uh,” He said dumbly, unable to catch up before she marched off. “What…”

“Isak.”

 _”What,_ Sana?” He glanced at her again. She held up a pen to gesture towards the back entrance of the canteen, where Jonas and Eva stood with their eyes cold. They were both staring at Isak expectantly, and _wow,_ nothing gets much more anxiety-inducing than that. He's just relatively thankful neither of them are related to him as he makes his way over.

“What's up?” He asked casually, hooking a clothed thumb beneath the strap of his backpack. Jonas jerked his head, signaling for them to walk out. “Guys?”

“You good, man?” Jonas asked. Isak could see he was waiting for him to say something– but. Actually. Nothing had even happened when he got home. His parents were asleep, he was able to take a shower before they got up too.

“I'm… yeah? Why?” 

_”Dude._ Really?” Jonas furrowed his brows, almost disappointed? Something twisted in Isak's stomach.

“Yeah? What, do you wanna strip me down and check for bruises or something?” Because it's not like he hasn't been threatened with it before. Honestly. That's what made Eva's cringe a little confusing. 

“Isak, it looks like you peeled all the skin off your hands.” She said finally, looking a little uncomfortable, and. Oh.

“Oh,” He swallowed. He pulled his sleeves up to show them (or– what he could, rather. the splint sort of impeded it) his hands, twisting his wrists over. “It's– you know. How I am about… touching things. There was a lot of that yesterday. That's all. I swear.”

They didn't look too confident in his answer, but he could also see they weren't about to press it. “Really guys. If it was bad, I'd say something.”

Eva sighed, dropping her arms. “No, you wouldn't, Isak.”

***

She was half right.

***

“I think he goes for my hands because he knows that, like, my brain is in my hands, if that makes sense? _Fuck,_ Jonas, what the fuck are you—”

“You're babbling,” He said, eyes sharp on Isak's. He clenched his jaw shut, grinding his teeth as Jonas poked around with latex covered fingers. “Yeah. Luckily for you, I have three brothers and know what broken wrists look like.”

“So?”

“So, I'm driving you to the ER.”

He doesn’t _really_ remember calling Jonas-- he more remembers being unable to scream, being unable to sort his thoughts as he stared down at a fist he couldn’t clench. He remembers having tunnel vision and falling out of his window. He doesn’t _really_ remember calling Jonas. He remembers… Jonas helping him to his feet and getting out his car, Jonas hissing something about being quiet.

“The fuck you are,” he spat, withdrawing his wrist. “I'm not going to the fucking hospital, I can deal with this.”

“Isak, you know what the word _nonunion_ means? Your wrist is gonna hurt like this for _years_ if we don't go. It's already been, what, almost fourteen hours? Is that what you said? We need to go.”

“Dude, I'm _fine.”_

“If you were _fine,_ you wouldn't have called me at 5:30, _crying,”_ He said, effectively snubbing out Isak's demeanor. “Listen, man. I'm not trying to sound like… you know.”

“I know,” he sighed, slouching back and eyeing his swollen wrist. “I know.”

“We have to go. A splint won't fix this, you gotta see a doctor.” Jonas peeled his gloves from his fingers, his chair screeching against the linoleum as he scooted backward. 

“Can we… please don't make me.” He tried, only to be met with an anguished sigh.

“I don't want to go anymore than you want to, but I'm not gonna sit here and let you walk out when I know you won't go by yourself. I'll be there with you the whole time. You'll be okay. But we need to take care of this– look, you can't even bend it.” Jonas watched him pick it up, wincing as Isak tried to roll his sleeve down. 

He really did have intentions to retort, but here's the thing: when your best friend, the most solid, level-headed guy you know is standing in front of you with his eyes a little too watery for it to be coincidence. Asking you to go to the hospital. _Offering_ to drive you. 

“Isak,” he shrugged. “Dude. Come on.”

Okay… yeah. Okay. Maybe he didn't need that much convincing because _yeah,_ it hurt like _hell._ Maybe it was because he half hoped this would be the kicker that got him moved out of his house, or that he just needed the afternoon to fucking sleep, because hell knows he didn't last night. 

Maybe it was because he wanted to meet Olsen there and show her the physical evidence of the kind of injuries consistent with having your arm pinned behind your back. Maybe it was because this… really could be the kicker. He tried really hard not to dwell on that one, but.

Maybe because he also wanted to be able to text Even back with an honest answer that _yeah, I'm okay, I'll see you soon._

“I think I broke my hand,” is what he thought he said. But if you asked Jonas two hours later, he'd say Isak said something about how he didn't want to see his mom. Would have said Isak was crying, could barely understand him, was super thankful he only lived a few blocks away. 

The other thing is that he'd only tell you that last part. 

“I had no idea, man, I think when he dropped his phone it fucked with the microphone,” Jonas, ever the fucking saint in Isak's life, told the nurse. “I just ran over.”

His cast is maroon. The nurse didn't make eye contact– no words were spoken when she covered the cuts on his wrist. Ones the splint hid, ones his mother’s foundation powder masked. 

His cast is maroon. The same color as the snapback Even tossed into his lap– the same snapback he'd borrowed and never returned to his best friend because _what's mine is yours, man._

His cast is maroon. The same color as the splotches beneath Olsen’s eyes when she explained _I'm his social worker, can I get these reports–_ and read back to herself what the nurse had seen. 

His cast is maroon. Like the dried blood underneath his fingernails that he'd drawn from his palm as the doctor said _oh yeah, that's Smith’s fracture._

_**Eva** (09:09) hey why aren't you in norwegian? Oscar started a new unit today  & you never miss those. everything ok?  
(10:23) Isak??_

__**Vilde** (10:44) Eva is super stressed you're not here  
(10:44) I'm kind of worried too – can you text me when you see this? _ _

_til **Even** (11:36) you free today? me and my brand new cast don't really wanna go home_

_**Even** (11:36) my family’s home this afternoon, that ok? we can hang in my room. can i sign your cast? ;)_

_til **Even** (11:37) yeah that's ok. it's kind of a dark color though _

_**Even** (11:38) jokes on you, i have silver sharpies B)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next on Tuesday ♥♥ i know it looks like everything is going south (especially with the clip yesterday, oh my _god_ what the _hell)_ but just know it's gotta get worse before it gets better ♥
> 
> on another... note, i guess: you can bet your ass karaoke is making its way into this universe somehow. that was scene was too precious.


	7. VII (three years on, it's not old news)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _hiiii_  
>  y'all i _swear._ you guys literally get me out of bed in the morning. for real. waking up and finding all the emails with comments and kudos make me _so_ happy it's _literally_ restoring my will to live. i love you guys so much  <33
> 
> this one's a little longer. thank you to spencer for giving me perspective and being... like generally an amazing person.
> 
> please let me know what you guys think <33

“You wanna talk about it?” Even offers from where he's sitting – they're on his bedroom floor, two plates of cheese toast between them and Isak’s left arm perched on the seat of the chair to Even’s desk. He'd dragged it out for Isak to elevate it as they sat (alongside having a stable surface to draw on the cast, but…), the older boy on the adjacent side of it with a sharpie in his grip. 

“Mh,” he said around his bite. He ducked his head away (he'd promised Even he wouldn't look until he was done) to study the folds of his shirt. “There's nothing really to say.”

“I just don't want you to bottle it up. ‘S not good for ya.” 

“Okay, we’re not from Oakland, you don't need to talk like that,” Isak laughed, looking over to the other boy to find his cheeky grin returned. “I meant it, like. I was out of line. He's just more physical about it than I am.”

“Out of line… how?” He tilted his head, a stray lock of hair shifting with it. Isak… kind of wanted to tuck it back. But. “You have nice arms.” 

It— okay, like, Isak could tell Even meant it as an afterthought, but he couldn't really hide his surprise. And if there was a way to segway out of talking about his father, he was gonna take it.

“I– what?”

“What?” Even looked back at him just as curiously (if not more feigned). Isak raised his eyebrows. Like, okay, sure this was the first time he'd been around Even without anything to retreat his hands into (or… anyone, in probably _years,_ for that matter), but. What?

“What did you say?” 

“That you have nice arms? Like– you ever… you're gonna make me sound weird!”

“Even,” he laughed, reveling in the fact that the other boy was too. “You already sound weird. You gotta ride it out now, c’mon.”

“Whatever,” he chuckled, putting the cap on the sharpie. “I'm not done, don't look yet– but, like, you ever see someone and think about how soft their skin looks?”

“Sure,” [Isak squinted.](https://68.media.tumblr.com/e437f00ed3e842833df9903faa8b1421/tumblr_omkgn2WGu81w5vqrno1_400.gif)

“Shut up. I see you with that look,” Even was still laughing as Isak shook his head, reaching out to tap his nose with the end of the sharpie. “I– can I. With my hands.” 

“I'm probably gonna boil myself later tonight anyway, so do you as you please,” he joked weakly, not missing the flash of concern in Even’s eyes. He didn't say anything, which. Isak was. Actually… more thankful for than he thought he would be. 

Even took off his own jacket before scooting closer into Isak's space. 

“Like… alright. Arms.”

“Arms,” Isak agreed, getting another eye roll from Even. “And here I thought I was the grumpy one.”

“Listen, you,” Even butted their noses together as Isak laughed again. Isak could see the older boy bite his lip for a moment before reeling off, and he turned his head just in time to see Even press his lips to the inside of his bicep. 

Isak let out a little exhale (he literally does not care how many time you accuse him– it wasn't a gasp, goodbye), unable to do anything but watch as Even’s eyes fluttered back open. He pulled away gently, movements slow and clear– giving Isak ample time to pull away if he needed before Even’s lips pressed high against his cheekbone. His palm came up to rest on the other side of Isak's face, holding him in place and _fuck_ Even was just– _warm–_

“Even,” he sighed, feeling fuzzier than he had in years when the other boy pulled back. It didn't quite replace the singing in his sternum, but it damn tried. Isak blinked. “You…”

“Like, I know… you said you didn't wanna talk about it, and that's okay. But I want to help you feel better and, like– what if we could cuddle, but none of our skin is touching?”

Isak furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Like–” Even uncrossed his legs, stretching them out in a semi-circle around Isak. He patted Isak's thighs gently, gesturing for him to do the same. He picked up his knees so his feet sat on the outside of Even’s thighs, the older boy sort of tugging him into his lap. Even wound his arms around Isak's middle (one of his own arms still propped up on the chair, the other finding it’s way around Even’s shoulder and _really,_ would anyone tell if his fingers found their way to the inside of his sleeve?). 

“Sorta like this?” Isak mumbled. He could see Even swallow harshly. He rested their foreheads together gently, seemingly unable to help himself as he continued to pull Isak further and further against him. 

And– honestly, if _was_ really nice, that was probably the worst part. It was comfortable to be this close to Even, and–Isak did mean it when he said _boil_ himself– 

He just. Really wishes this wouldn't burn. Wishes it didn't burn when Even’s hands held his thighs, wishes his first instinct wasn't to elbow the guy off and shove himself into the corner of the room. Wishes the instinct didn't _linger._ That’s why it sucked so bad that this was _nice._

“Yeah, like this,” Even breathed softly, eyes half-mast. “I… yeah. I wanna keep you.”

“Keep me.”

***

“E-B-N?” Jonas read. Isak looked up at him from where his head was nestled in his own arm against the table. “What's that?”

“Is that–” Eva looked at him curiously, and he gave her a little nod. “Oh! That's his mystery man,” she laughed. 

“Mys– what?” Magnus sat up, looking at Isak. “You have a _what?”_

“A personal chauffeur,” Isak gave him a sly smile, sitting up a little more. “He just gives me rides to school and stuff. Asked to..” he waved his cast around.

“Is he hot?” Magnus asked, earning a snort from Eva and the kind of incredulous look from Isak he reserved for these moments. Magnus balked. “What!”

“He–”

“Show them that photo!” Eva clapped, and Isak wanted to kick himself in the stomach for jarring. 

“Here,” he said, laying his phone down on the table. The others hovered over it (mindful of touching, _bless),_ eyeing Even’s figure. Magnus's eyebrows shot up his forehead a little too comically for Isak not to let out a snort– “What? Problem?”

 _”You're_ friends with _him?”_ Magnus pointed to the screen. Isak nodded once, albeit a little confused. “Seriously? Where'd you meet him? He transferred from Bakka, dude–” He hit Jonas's arm. “That's Even Bech Næsheim, that guy my sister was on about? He was a fucking legend over there, his parents let him host these _massive_ parties every fucking weekend–”

“Wait. How do you know so much?” Isak plucked his phone back (to… Magnus's chagrin? uh) and eyed him a little warily. 

“My sister went to Bakka with him? She's a second year like us–”

“When did you hatch a _sister,_ man? I've been to your house a ton of times–”

“Step-sister, smartass. My step-dad’s kid, he's got two others too. She goes to Bakka and I guess she'd always go out with her friends, they _always_ wound up at his house. Everyone was super bummed out when he had to quit it for some reason. I guess he was in the hospital for a little while and his friends didn't w–”

“Magnus,” Isak bit, catching his attention pretty effectively. “Where'd you hear this?”

“It was a pretty big deal last year. I dunno. That's what Andrea told me. Where'd you even _meet_ him, though?” 

“He goes here?” Jonas raised an eyebrow at Magnus's startled expression. “Isn’t that… the guy who came up to us in the cafeteria?”

“He _what?_ Since when?” 

“He just transferred this year,” Isak said. “I think he's trying to lay low.”

“Who’s trying to lay low?” Another voice input somewhere behind them, making Isak startle a little too harshly. Vilde sat down next to him with an apologetic glance. “Sorry. Who…?”

“You've heard of Even Be–”

“Yeah, no offense guys,” Isak elbowed the table. “I don't think he'd want a the rumor mill going after him. I don't think anyone knows that stuff for a reason.”

Magnus settled back in his chair, looking Isak over for a moment before asking, “Can I at least meet him? Dude’s legendary.”

***

“Legendary, huh?” Even asked a little amusedly, eyeing Isak's group of friends from across the courtyard. They'd snuck off so that Even could finish his handiwork on Isak's cast (efforts cut short yesterday), parked at a bench at the edge of the campus grounds.

“You should have seen him, it was like Christmas morning,” Isak laughed, more interested in the way Even’s hair shifted in the breeze than anything else. Part of him ached to run his fingers through it, like– _bad_ , it looked so fucking _soft_ , and he was sure Even wouldn't mind, but he just.

Oh, fuck it. Whatever. 

“He kept saying, like…” he reached out gingerly, combing his fingernails through and brushing it back. “About how his sister knew you at Bakka, and stuff. That's how he– Even?”

The other boy had frozen. “Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–” 

He pulled back his hand, but Even caught it before he got far. The other boy’s hand was capped in his sleeve and if only for a moment, Isak was overwhelmed with _where have you been all this time, what the–_ before Even’s soft voice was tugging him back out. 

“Knew me from Bakka how?” He whispered, bringing Isak's hand back to hold against his cheek. Isak blew out a shaky breath.

“I guess you threw a bunch of parties or something?” Isak shrugged, scooting a little closer. “Why?”

“A lot of people have a lot of stories,” he shrugged, letting go of Isak's hand. The other boy moved it around to comb through the hair at the nape of Even’s neck, finding himself smiling when Even shivered. “And storytellers use lies to tell the truth.”

Isak raised a brow. All his feeling was in his right hand. He opened his mouth to ask, but Even beat him to it.

“Alan Moore?” He matched Isak’s expression. “V For Vendetta? No?”

“...Even,” He chuckled. “Are you for real?”

“Yes! What does that even mean?”

It was-- it was moments like _this,_ exactly as Even leaned forward with a touch of confusion (exasperation?) in his voice, eyebrows quirked up like it was some kind of inside joke, it was just--

The little things his pearly blue eyes that made them twinkle, the way his smile made something in Isak’s chest twist that made him want to just rip the wiring from his brain that made him worry about contact. Or… maybe just push it to the side for a second. In, like, favor of crawling into Even’s lap and kissing the daylights out of him. 

“Isak?” Even asked gently, pulling Isak from his trance. “You look lost over there.”

Was anyone going to fucking tell if he did it?

Isak would. Isak would chastise himself into the sun.

“No,” He mumbled, the stone in his throat hardening. “No, I’m… right here.”

“Right here?” Even tapped his temple. Isak swallowed. “Or right here?” 

Even’s open palm moved slowly across the space between them, hooking beneath Isak’s knee and pulling him a tad closer. “Hm?”

“Hm?” Isak mimicked, still somewhere between his headspace and the burning Even’s fingertips left on the underside of his thigh.

“Uh,” a third voice rang out, jolting them apart. Even slid his hand back out to hand on to Isak's free wrist beneath the table, making his heart do something… fuckin’ weird, is what it was.

Eva eyed them precariously, taking in the unholy discomfort on Isak's expression before it seemed to click as her eyebrows readjusted. “Oh, wait, is--” she lifted a finger to point, and, well. 

“I…” Isak swallowed. “Eva, this is--”

“Even, right?” She marched a little closer, extending a hand over the bench for Even to shake. His thumb grazed Isak's wrist a little too thickly for it to be an accident as he reached up to shake her’s back.

“Yeah,” Even smiled, and there went Isak's fucking heart again, cool. “You're Eva? I've seen you two before--”

“Oh!” She suddenly looked a little flustered and _wow_ if Isak melted beneath the boards of the bench would anyone actually _notice–_ “Has Isak… explained…”

“Yeah, he has,” Even laughed again, light and bell-like and really Isak um– his heart won't– fucking slow down– “It’s good to actually meet you, though.”

“Yeah, it is! But, I actually needed to… speak with Isak, if that's okay?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Even climbed out from the bench, tapping Isak's nose again with his sleeve. “I'll never get to finish that, will I?”

Isak looked down at this cast, flashing a quirked brow at Even.

“Are you joking? It's barely even red anymore,” He grinned, earning himself a little sneer and Even’s tongue poked out at him. He was barely able to return the gesture (although it got Even laughing just as quickly) before Eva was letting out a little squeal– making either boy jolt again.

“Oh my– you guys are so cute!” She held her hands to her mouth, adding a weird acoustic to her voice. Isak gave her a little glare replaced _awfully_ quickly by the burning he felt as–

As Even pressed his lips beneath Isak's eye in a chaste, smacking kiss that kind of left him winded, if he was honest.

“Okay,” Even smiled softly. “Okay, see you.”

He exhaled a goodbye, turning back to Eva as the other boy rounded back into the courtyard.

“Uh, hey,” He gave her a half smile. “What's going on?”

“So…” She sat across from him, putting her elbows down on the bench and picking at her nails.

“Eva?”

“When… Jonas told me what happened. I hope that's okay. When he told me about it, he told me that you called your social worker, and… talked to her about adding this to your claim, and stuff.” She spoke slowly, nervously. Isak swallowed, tried to shrug it off.

“And… why are you telling me this? I'm trying to…go around like it didn't happen.”

“And that's okay, I completely get it. But I just wanted to be able to… I guess I wanted to say, like, if you ever need me to speak up about something…” She gestured lamely as she picked at her fingernails. 

“Eva,” he sighed, putting (what he hoped was) a comforting smile up. “We've talked about this. I think you know what to do.”

“What if people we don't know are saying stuff, though? What if… Sara, or her lot, or any of them having been saying stuff about why– you know?”

“I know, and… Eva, it's– we've talked about this.” 

“So you still want me to defend your honor even though…” She pointed to where Even had walked off, and it kind of made Isak want to laugh.

“Defend– _what?_ Yeah. We got this.” He said, effectively fizzling some of the tension from her shoulders.

“What if people start talking about Even? Because… I think they are.”

“What if people talked about Vilde?”

 _”What?”_ She snapped, making Isak jar a little. “Who’s talking about Vilde?”

“No one. But… do you see–”

“Isak.” He held her gaze, raising an eyebrow at her uncomfortable expression. 

“Don't ask don't tell?” He winked, something blooming when she bit back her smile. It put him… at a weird ease. 

When they'd first– back when Isak had come out, Eva had pulled him aside like this to ask why he'd always hooked up with girls, and everything came out at once. Why he'd been doing it, what he did to her relationship with Jonas and… why. Everything. She'd been understanding to the point of Isak wondering where that kind of empathy came from, but he never got the nerve to settle on it for too long. 

They'd made a deal, quick to share it with their friends to avoid any confusion: to anyone who asked, Eva and Isak were a couple. It was never really questioned (apparently there'd been rumors that they'd been hooking up regardless) because they had established something.

If no one asks questions, if no one _has any to ask,_ then there'd be nothing to tell. It was pretty easy to stay solid following that.

Especially when Isak finally did get the nerve to think about Eva’s… overwhelming sympathy for being unable to keep himself for ruining something like that– because she'd nearly done the same thing to another white-blonde girl who was pursuing a relationship. 

“Don't ask don't tell.” Eva breathed softly, her smile as warm as an embrace.

***

His dad didn't say a fucking thing. Not even a glance.

Olsen had explained it would take a couple days, if not the weekend for the claim to be processed– in the meantime, lay low. Lay low. Lay low.

So, as much as Isak wanted them to say something, to fucking acknowledge that they'd actually fucking broken something this time (it had probably broken in May, too, if he was honest– if there was ever a day his wrist was fully functional again, it'd be a surprise to all), he knew they wouldn't. So. Why was he upset. 

Who was he to even… to even _think_ his parents would notice, let alone _care?_

Isak couldn’t stop pinching the skin around the cast, on his nose where Even had poked them together, the pads of his fingers where they connected with Even’s cheek-- it just. He didn’t _know_ why touches like those lingered for _days,_ and logically he _knew_ that there was no reason his skin should be burning like this, no reason it should feel like he’d somehow contracted some godawful, unnamable illness through _eskimo kisses_ like what the fuck Isak you’re _fine_ just--

He blew out a breath into his pillow. 

He knew it didn’t work like that. He really was fine, he knew he was gonna be fine, but he just. Fucking. Hates. Being dirty. The worst part is that he knew Even, knew his friends and his pens were _clean?_ Like… they took care of themselves. They always had, and because they were the only people he really interacted with, there’s no reason he should be so fucking scared to--

No reason he should fucking _jump_ because he didn’t hear Vilde walking up to their table--

No reason he should be so _overwhelmed_ when someone like Even, who he inexplicably and probably inappropriately trusts above most others, lays his head in his lap.

Just thinking about it again made his heart thump uncomfortably. Not because he didn’t like it, on the contrary--

But. _Thinking_ about that happening is way different than having it actually happen. Isak would know. Kinda.

He tried to ignore the aching in his chest as he waited for the alarm on his phone telling him to go to _trygstyd._

***

__**Even** ( **I dag** 18:03) remember my friend?  
 **Even** (18:09) he recently made a decision to… open up about something. it was really personal and he felt okay doing it at the time. it seemed like the right decision.  
 **Even** (18:09) he got really excited about it. he told our other friend about it.  
 **Even** (18:14) and now he doesn’t feel so good anymore.

_til **Even** (18:30) do you wanna talk about it?  
til **Even** (19:22) even?_

_**Even** (19:41) are you on the tram already_

_til **Even** (19:43) I sure am_

_**Even** (19:48) you wanna skip group tonight??_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise things will get better!!! the downs are so _down_ because the ups are gonna be... _so_ up. i promise. i love you guys  <33
> 
> next one on Friday!


	8. VIII (where i could dream and nights were long)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **hey please read this** i'm not trying to freak y'all out but there's some touchy subject matter in this chapter, so **i'm leaving all the trigger warnings i can think of in the notes at the end. scroll down there prior to reading if you're worried** about how you might handle it? just **be wary that reading them is also major spoilers** for the content of this chapter.
> 
> on another, lighter note: writing this story/reading your feedback makes me so happy i can barely breathe. writing this story was, like, 33% to see if I could handle it when other people saw stuff I'd written. with... _all_ of the support this has gotten and every kind word and kudos you guys leave behind, it's like a little reminder that getting up and doing/pursuing what I love is worth it. every single day. i love you all so much  <3

“Tell me about your OCD,” Even said, turning in the driver seat to face Isak. The other boy twisted his head, quirking a brow. “Like… sharing food and stuff.”

A little smile split Isak's cheeks instead. “You… wanna share food with me?”

“Have you ever read Harry Potter?” Even reached into the pocket of his jean jacket, leaning a little closer. Isak shook his head slowly.

 _”What?_ Okay, well, that's a movie marathon we’re having,” he laughed. “There's a character who– like, he gives out chocolate because it helps people feel better when they've had a bad experience. I took that shit pretty seriously, but I've already, like… taken a bite from it?”

“It's okay,” Isak leaned back a little. “I spend, like, twenty minutes brushing my teeth anyway. It'll be okay.”

“Yeah?” He smiled sweetly. He pulled out a Hershey's bar from his pocket, opening Isak's palm to place it. “Here, then.”

“What, you want me to–”

“Right now,” he tilted his head a little, giving off a– he was pouting. Even was pouting at him. And if Isak didn't notice how fucking full the guy’s lips were before, he sure as hell did now. “You look like you're having a hard time.”

Isak paused, fingers folded in the wrapping. He gave Even a little squint.

“Have you… seen yourself, Even? If anyone looks like they've got it rough…” he smiled, grinning right back at Even’s little sneer. 

“Shut up and eat your chocolate.” he smiled, leaning back to start his car. The defrost surged over them, forcing a shiver through Isak as he chewed. 

“Can I ask you something, though? Like for real,” Isak said. He took another bite of the bar before folding it back into the wrapping, holding it neatly between his fingers. “Like… I looked up what ‘comorbid PTSD’ is, right? Like, it just means you have PTSD _and_ another… you know.”

“Mental illness?” Even pursed his lips as he plucked back the chocolate bar. “Yeah. Why?”

“Can you tell me about it?” He leaned a little closer, tilting his head on his shoulder. Even bit his lip, clearly trying to mask a smile and– failing pretty badly, honestly, but who was gonna call him on it?

Definitely not Isak.

“I have a mood disorder, which… judging the the look on your face,” he chuckled, leaning a little closer on his end. “Isn't what you were thinking I was gonna say, right?”

“I think… I was expecting you to say depression, or something, because it would explain the sleeping thing.”

“Depression is also a mood disorder,” Even said slowly, teasingly. Isak only gave him an eye roll, making him laugh the smirk clean off. “But, yeah, that's a good half of it– I have _manic_ depression, meaning I… like, sometimes I wake up in places I didn't go to sleep, and think I have superpowers and shit. Other times, I couldn't get out of bed if it'd save my life. Most of the time I ride the line in between thanks to… meds that fuck with my sleeping schedule.” He smiled wistfully, and Isak would be lying if he said it didn't rise one from him as well. 

“Okay,” Isak said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“That makes you one of four people who know something about me,” Even teased, making Isak scoff. “What? Not familiar?”

“You know what, you,” Isak was giggling, reaching across the console to push at Even’s shoulder. The other boy scoffed back (complete with a palm to the chest and everything, the dramatic little–), reaching back to wrap his forearms around Isak's shoulders and tug at him. 

“What are you--”

“You– are– so–” Even punctuated each word with a hard kiss between Isak's eyebrows, making him sputter and push back at the other boy’s chest with little avail– and yeah it _stung_ but why was that such a _bad_ feeling when it could be–

Even reeled back, covering his palms with the sleeves of his jean jacket and cupping Isak's cheeks. “Can I take you home? I don't wanna let you go.”

“I thought we established already,” Isak wrinkled his nose, putting his elbows on the console to breath the same air as Even. “You can keep me.”

Something shifted when he said it, and what it was really Isak couldn't place– but Even’s eyes got a lot more tender, that same spark he saw a couple weeks ago where the mask seemed to fall away for a moment. Where Even’s gaze aged a thousand years and his skin fell back in youth. It stole the breath from his lungs. 

“Don't joke about that,” Even murmured, his breath minty. Isak shrugged minutely.

“I'm not.”

***

“You did the right thing.” She whispered, eyes downcast. Isak swallowed harshly. “I’m proud of you for reaching out.”

“Is that it?” He slouched back a little. Olsen blew out a slow breath. 

“I had to tell your psychotherapist-- like, legally. You know. She said you guys talked about it?” The words hung onto the abhorrent creaking Olsen’s chair made as she leaned back and forth -- unable to get comfortable in the silence, unable to get comfortable in her _own office_ because Isak was here. And if that didn’t fucking burn.

“We did,” He nodded softly. “Petersen knows I have self-image problems, it’s not… it wasn’t big news for her.”

“I haven’t received her notes or anything, and I probably won’t dealing with that stuff unless you… cite your parents, you know. I was just wondering if that’s something I should hear from you.”

Isak closed his eyes. 

“I haven’t-- I stopped for a little while because… sure, suicide… was on the table. It was like I had pocket aces and kept checking, you know? I think I was too scared to see what’d happen if I raised or folded. Doing…” He waved his wrist lamely, set it back on the table on his left. “Doing that was like… checking.”

“Checking?” She asked, clicking her pen open. Isak swallowed, watched her hand float to her legal pad.

“Checking to see if I should raise. Answer was almost always no. Whenever it was yes, I… yeah. Eventually I just… I was able to admit to myself that I wasn’t designed to play poker.”

“What do you mean?” She asked softly. Olsen tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, looking strangely human for a moment before Isak continued.

“I talked about all of this with Petersen, you don’t have to email her. I mean… I’m, like, the kind of person designed to keep breaking. I can hurt myself as much as I want, retreat as much as I want, but I’m… like. At this point, what’s the point in ending it? I’m in a weird stage where I kind of want to see what happens if I don’t give in. I didn’t think I’d get this far in the first place, so what the hell?”

“What put you there?”

“Don’t know. What I _do_ know, going back to what you originally said… my parents talk to me… badly. You already know that. I did some reading a while ago about, like… the way you talk to your kids becomes their inner voice. Being called worthless for most of my childhood doesn’t just go away, so… yeah, I guess you could cite them in this case.”

Olsen took a couple minutes to sink into the silence. Her pen scratched incessantly, almost to the point that Isak was going to ask her to fucking _quit_ or _something,_ just that noise was too much. It felt like it was drying out his eyes as he examined the carpet patterns. Isak rolled his gaze back eventually, barely scanning over his social worker before he found weird splotches in the ceiling texture that looked like an _E._

And while he typically wasn’t one to dissect symbolism (which… coincidentally, also seemed like more Even’s thing, and two reminders in five seconds was enough), he figured he could run with it. He eyed Olsen carefully as he slid his phone from his pocket, turning the brightness down before pulling open his texts.

_**Even** (17:38) i made this for you:  
**Even** (17:38) [fata organa](https://open.spotify.com/user/xxlevibech/playlist/4FC917lSYeksjP3TaUTrqa) _

Isak glanced at the clock -- _17:47._ Even had _just_ messaged him? What kind of… fucking sign was that. Alright then. He blew out a breath as he typed.

_til **Even** (17:48) is this more of your awful pop music_

_**Even** (17:48) oho you’re funny_

Isak let out a soft snort, immediately remembering where he was and flashing a glance back at Olsen, who. Yeah. Was staring back at him.

“Something funny?” She asked quizzically, making something acidic stir in Isak’s stomach. Cool. This was fine.

“You know that group you sent me to?” He asked, because fuck it, who was she gonna tell? She nodded once, quirking a brow as she set down her pen and gestured for him to continue.

“I made a friend. He’s really cool.” 

“Yeah?” She smiled, and, you know-- it’s. Olsen is a good person. She cares about Isak like a real mother would, and he appreciates it a _lot_ for all the stuff he puts her through. She’s his social worker, though, and she knows more than he thinks any given mother would care to-- and now that she’s got this snippet of information that exactly two others do, two people he’d give the keys to his house to, would take a bullet for, could go to with things like _hey uh my dad might’a broken my wrist last night are you awake yet,_ he feels like he needs to trust her the same. The difference is that Eva and Jonas don’t look at him with pity. They look at him like he’s a normal fucking person, with normal fucking problems. That’s part of why Isak likes them so much. That’s also what let him open up to Even so easily, if he was honest -- there wasn’t any pity, no sorrow in Even’s expressions or tones as he opened up. It was just empathy. It was just understanding.

Olsen does not have that.

Olsen has the eyes of someone who feels _sorry_ right then, and it makes Isak’s throat close pretty promptly. Like now that she know’s he’s self-harmed, he’s a different case. He’s a different case. But she’s still saying, “Tell me about him.”

“Mh,” He tries, coughing into his elbow. He looked up slowly. “He’s -- he’s so tall it’s, like, almost unnatural looking. It’s kind of funny when he has to duck through the doors. He-- listens to a lot of music and wants to study film, and hi–” His skin lights me on fire and sometimes I wanna ask if it does the same to him, because maybe it's not just me being fucking _weird–_

“What’s his name?” She asks carefully. It takes him out of it, filling the silence where it'd been choked prior. Isak swallows again.

“Even.”

“You like him?”

Oh, fuck it. “Probably… well. A _lot_ more than I should, considering the amount of time I’ve known him.” She nods carefully, lips going from pursed to a growing grin. 

“That’s… great, Isak.”

He squints. Knows that conversation isn’t over, her tone gives that away. Drops it. Doesn’t really want to talk to Olsen anymore today.

***

_til **Even** (18:09) wow i guess i wasn’t exaggerating about the Ed Sheeran thing huh_

_**Even** (18:10) can i be honest for a second  
**Even** (18:10) i legit did not notice_

_til **Even** (18:12) oh my god  
til **Even** (18:13) who ARE you_

_**Even** (18:17) ;) anyway  
**Even** (18:17) have you actually listened to the playlist yet? Ed Sheeran’s pretty far down that list how’d you get there so quick_

_til **Even** (18:17) i was just looking at what’s on it thanks_

_**Even** (18:19) get to listenin, boy_

Isak smiled at the screen, typing out _no hablo inglés_ as he sat on the tram. He pulled his headphones from his pocket to plug them in, pointedly ignoring whatever text Even sent him that started with another _fuckin’_ winking emoji that made his heart thump too hard. 

But… hours later, as he sat with his back to the nightstand, it seemed like the night couldn’t have frayed him moreso if it tried.

His skull had numbed out hours ago, the flared throbbing in his wrist only subsiding when he could lull himself into some poor rendition of depersonalization. He wasn’t really sure if he was awake, but it seemed like every noise was-- fucking, outside or something? Every kick against his door didn’t rattle his frame, he felt like he was _watching_ himself tremble instead of actually feeling. It sounded, felt like, he was working the booth at a movie theatre-- only able to gravel bits and pieces of the experience when he remembered to check for it.

He felt like he could see his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed back tears, too, which was really weird. _Really_ weird. The worst part was that he couldn’t get himself to stop _shaking,_ it was-- fucking relentless and scary to watch himself watch his hands in his lap. It made him want to throw up. 

Getting home and listening to a song called _Daddy Issues_ couldn’t have been more ironic if he wanted it to be. His father was perched on the porch, lamplight a poor sport in comparison to his cigarette. He was barefoot, dress shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, looking a thousand years older than typical, which sent up every red flag Isak’s ears could preemptively ring. 

“Hey, son,” His dad said, voice absolutely ruined. Like he’d been screaming for hours. Like he’d been the headliner at Woodstock, or something. Isak’s feet wanted to stop to the point of making him stumble over a weed poking between the lining of their driveway, getting a huff of (contempt?) laughter from his father. “Watch yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” He’d mumbled, plucking his earphones from the sockets and curling them back into his pocket. He put his arms in the kangaroo pocket as he scooted past his father, spine grazing the doorframe in an effort to stay as far away as his body could manage.

“Isak?” He’d asked, and really, there was a lot of reasons it made his blood run cold. Whichever one it was, though-- there was no happy ending here. So, he turned on his heel, looking back at Terje from the entryway where the man was slumped over on the porch. 

“Your _psycho_ mother’s out again tonight. I don’t know when she’ll back, so, just… lock your door, you know.” He spat it out, looking down at the cement. His voice was hardly recognizable. And that-- that was the worst thing, actually. If Isak could pick out his _least_ favorite thing about being here, it was that. The fact that his parents always acted like it was only the other one who instigated what happened there. It could never be their own faults -- it would _never_ be his father’s fault that he hit Isak. It would always be his mom’s, the voice his father would always claim made him behave this way.

Instead of mentioning it _(again),_ he opted for a curt nod before making his way back to his room.

Isak has _no_ idea why he thought he’d get away with that. Honestly. Who was he _fucking_ kidding anymore, right? So when his father grabbed him by the throat and smacked the back of his head against the wall, bending his neck awkwardly because his snapback didn’t quite fall off -- when Terje hissed, _”you think you can walk away without answering me, boy?”_ and grabbed Isak’s left hand like there weren’t literal split bones beneath the bandaging, asking him again if he thought it was okay--

Isak couldn’t actually fucking answer him, either, because the grip on his neck was tight enough for him to see spots. How he didn’t black out he’ll never actually fucking know.

But that’s about half the reason he’s got the nightstand blocking the locked door, the other half because he was downright fucking petrified of his mother trying to break in here should he even have half the mind to try and get some sleep before she gets back. 

He’d plugged in Even’s playlist again when he finally settled against the knobs, something about Vance Joy and the cornflower blue light of the twilight outside lulling him to a place he’s… some semblance of comfortable. Like being at the bottom of a swimming pool.

What shocked him out of it was the combination of the front door slamming and the hard beat of Ella Eyre, making him gasp and tumble forward into the center of his carpet. He’d whipped on his knees to stare back at the door, pulling the headphones from his ears and tossing everything to his mattress. He’s barely able to register that he has about eight texts waiting for him when he hears his mother sputtering out the most derisive kind of laugh she could muster.

“What, did you actually wait up for me?” She laughed bitterly, and, well. If that wasn’t one way to start a fight. There was a horrible thumping noise that made Isak’s heart start double-timing in his cochleas, his toes curl in his socks. 

He needs to fucking go. Right now.

He registers it as his father starts screaming something about ruining their family, more stomping noises making his vision blurry at the edges and _wo-ow,_ Isak hasn’t had one’a these in a little while.

He can’t swallow as he’s changing his clothes at fucking _light speed,_ pulling on different socks and shoes and a beanie his father hasn’t touched. Isak can see he’s crying because the blur is actually tears, only knows it’s tears because the taste of salt is just on the wrong side of uncomfortable. 

His phone charger’s in his backpack alongside his school stuff, so he stuffs another jacket in there, three prescription bottles and a spare toothbrush he just _has_ because this certainly isn’t the first time he’s had to ditch his house in the middle of the night _alright?_

He’s moving to pull the tab that locks his window when he notices just how fucking badly he’s shaking. There’s a lot of yelling on the other side of the wall, a lot of Isak’s own name spewed from their lips and a lot about court, a lot ab--

His buries his face in his elbows for a moment. Takes a breath a little too deep. Takes another breath that’s a _lot_ too deep. Only comes back from it when the stomping gets louder and-- 

He pulls at the tab and throws his backpack out the window, throwing in his headphones again as he leaps out after and-- wait, shit--

His knee caught on the cord, sending him tumbling into the grass and, well, right on his fucking wrist again.

For a moment, Isak’s just gotten off the Zero Gravity ride, can’t seem to keep up with his mind as it whirs and makes him shake in the dewy grass. His eyes focus in weird places, little spots of pain making him light-headed as he lies there awkwardly -- calf caught on his backpack, half tangled in headphones that pulled from his ears, lying on a broken wrist and groaning (sobbing?) in his yard in the middle of the night. 

He lets himself have that moment in particular to make a decision, and it’s that he’s not coming back here for a little while. If he can decide anything in that moment… it’s that this is not his home. It’s the only clear though he’ll have all evening.

He’s so dizzy when he stands that he almost topples over again, adrenaline making everything shift a little to the right. He leans against the siding for a moment to take a few deep breaths -- which he thinks is almost a better decision than not coming back, in that moment. It feels so good, the cold air feels so _good_ that he kind of considers just going to sleep right there.

It takes him a moment to recognize that’s a bad idea. Exactly one moment.

Bearings gathered (albeit mildly), he doesn’t look back as he jogs off into the alley that leads out to the main road from his neighborhood. He knows he isn’t going to call Jonas or Eva, knows that he’ll probably scare the life out of Even, too. So he just walks until--

He’s leaning against a building again. He’s still dizzy, and he figures the lights outside of it probably mean it’s open, so-- if he goes in and asks for something to drink, it could-- it could help? Water could help. _Cold_ water. The thought’s too enticing to get rid of.

He squints, leans down with his palm against his thigh (other still tucked tightly into the kangaroo pocket, the fuck’s he gonna do with a broken hand right now?). He can’t think straight and he knows it, isn’t even sure he can vocalize anything but gasps -- but it’s -- gotta be worth something? He’s gotta at least _try_ to cool off properly before he probably fucking wanders off to Slottsparken again, or something stupid. 

It’s a _lot_ louder inside, and he leans on a counter to ask-- well, alright, he _thinks_ he asks for a drink. When one’s handed to him, it tastes like piss and makes him grimace, but he’s gotta down something. He’s gotta down something. If he throws up, at least he knows what he’s fucking _doing._ Anything’s better than whatever fucking’s happening inside his skin right now.

He’s handed another, and another-- not entirely sure why the guy keeps giving him more, because it all tastes disgusting, but Isak probably looks like he needs it or something. He isn’t sure. 

By the seventh round, he tells the dude that that shit’s nasty, and the guy laughs and says something like _what about this?_ and the liquid’s clear, it’s probably water?

It’s not fucking water.

Isak’s had tequila before and hated his life for the thirty six hours following it, couldn’t forget the taste if he re-wired his brain. He sets the glass down immediately and shakes his head, sliding it back and-- wait, _what the fuck?_

Why did the guy hand him _tequila?_ Wh-- 

He blinks hard, waving the guy off and stumbling toward the bathroom sign. It takes about ten seconds of white fluorescents before he has the kind of headache that come with antidepressants, and then someone’s tapping on his shoulder.

“Isak?” He hears, and it’s only right then that he recognizes how disoriented he is. He looks to the left, sees a head of ginger hair before curling back over the sink. “What-- why are you here?”

“Needed’a drink,” He mumbles, burying his face in his sleeve. “Don’... wanna go home.”

“You want to go home?” The guy asks, and Isak shakes his head frantically, another surge of tears prickling his eyelashes at the thought.

“No! No, pleas’,” He stumbles backward, and the guy catches him and _woah_ wait _fuck_ he’s holding Isak’s _bare hand_ and _now he can’t breathe--_

“Isak! Isak,” the guy lets go, puts his hands up. Isak crashes against the tiles as he speaks. His head sort of smacks against the tiles from his backpack knocking him a little off kilter, and the feeling is so familiar it sends a fresh round of panic through his veins, makes his knees give out. “It’s Eskild-- you’ve met me before, I’m Noora’s roommate? Remember me?”

Isak looks up at him from where he sits now. “Jesus, man, you’re a mess-- do you need somewhere to crash?”

Isak probably _is_ a mess-- he’s been blubbering like a goddamn idiot all night and his face is probably flushed and puffy because of it, alongside some probable fucking bruises on his neck and a broken fucking hand, he feels _dirty_ and he _just--_

He nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**trigger warnings:**_ mentions of self harm, suicidal ideation, depersonalization (dissociation), mental illness slurs, depictions of panic attacks, alcohol usage/abuse, blackouts. 
> 
> also... thanks Spencer for being the loveliest person ever and my _nameless new mutual_ for making my entire day on Wednesday ;)
> 
> the next one will be out Monday... where we'll be on the upswing of the rollercoaster again. ;) i love you guys!!!!  
> off tune singing: what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth? c;


	9. IX (to break the spell at a point where two worlds collide)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi lovelies - once again, thank you for... helping me get up. geeze. i'd forgotten how much this kinda thing means to me. i look forward to your comments and kudos every single day. 
> 
> one - thank you to spencer and my new penpal for like! turning my whole weekend around. i had like a baby crisis over whether or not I should continue writing this and... i really appreciate your guys' help. it really means a lot to me.
> 
> two - this fic is like... undergoing surgery. i'm rearranging some plot stuff, so if you see that the updates are more than three days apart, it's because of that. it's a little further down the road and i'm not even sure it'll impact my update schedule, but just in case, u kno?
> 
> three - i really love you all. i really really do.

First thing’s first: Isak throws up. 

Second thing’s second: he drinks the water on the nightstand.

Third thing’s third: he throws up again. He goes back to sleep.

***

When Isak wake up again, it’s because he has to throw up again. Weird how bodies work. He also notes that the water on his nightstand was refilled and while he definitely isn’t complaining, that brings him to the third thing: this is not his room. He also really needs to fucking brush his teeth.

But he’s not about to move either, what kind of bullshit idea is that. Everything is killing him-- his hand, his head, his throat-- his _knees,_ even. He feels like he was just catapulted into orbit and back for no fucking reason. Or. At least… his skull does.

He goes back to sleep.

***

When he wakes up again, it’s because someone’s shaking his shoulders.

“Isak,” they hiss, making him groan (also a pretty fuckin’ bad idea, it makes his head vibrate and then he’s all nauseous and fucked up again). “Isak, you really need to eat.”

“What time is it?” He asks lamely, eyes still sealed shut from the light filtering through. There’s some shifting.

“It’s...like, almost 14:00. Your hangover is gonna continue to have its way with you unless you get something in your system.” They say, and it’s. Is that… fucking _Eskild?_

He cracks open and eye and yep, sure enough, there’s the guy in all his lightly eyeliner-ed, tight v-neck glory. Isak furrows his brow. 

“...Eskild?” he tries, coming out like a croak. Eskild cracks a smile.

“Yes, Isak. Do you… remember…”

“Remember what? Did we hook up or something?” He asks, more than a little grossed out at the idea, but. Whatever. He shifts from his stomach to his back, stretching out his arms _(ow, what the fuck)_ with a particularly obscene groan. It makes Eskild laugh, which, in turn, sends a crack of pain like lightning through Isak’s skull. He shoots the redhead a dirty look. 

“No, no, we didn’t hook up. You showed up at the gay bar I frequent in Løkka, though, looking like death and begging not to go home.”

Oh.

 _Oh._ Yeah.

“Oh, shit,” He mutters, sitting up and rubbing the heel of his palm between his eyes. “I-- I can leave if you--”

“You aren’t fucking leaving, Isak,” Eskild says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it makes Isak hurt a little. “You’re an emotional drunk, did you know that?”

“I’m a _what?”_ He raises a brow.

“You told me a lot of shit, Isak. You’re not going back to that house.” Eskild says it firmly, and. The hurting pops, turns into tears he can feel gathering.

“I…”

“You’re gonna stay here. We can work out the details later, okay? For now, eat your eggs and nurse your hangover. You’re not going back home.”

He's floundering a little. Maybe in shock. He can't really find where his headspace is. “I– Eskild, all my stuff–”

“Hey,” he sits on the edge of the bed, hand on Isak's knee over the blanket. “Don't worry about it today. We're gonna worry about it tomorrow. Deal? Bathroom’s first door on the right, I can show you the rest when you're not… like. Dying.” He promptly stands up, leaving Isak with his mouth slightly agape. 

When the door clicks shut, Isak finds himself wolfing down the eggs left for him like he hasn't eaten in weeks, water going down the same. His phone is tucked near the wall outlet on the floor, where he rolls off the bed (which… by itself made him nauseous, but he tried to squash it) and crawls to it on his knees.

_til **Even** (14:24) I just woke up, remind me to tell you about the last twelve hours_

__

***

Isak gives himself a sixteen hour transition period, and then he'll be done with it. He hours it out: five to adjust to the idea, one to normalize it. Two to calm down about it. Two to talk with Eskild about how this is going to work, to meet Linn and take a fuckton of deep breaths. Two to adjust even _more_ because it's… it's just over?

And then three to budget with Eskild about how he's gonna… get his stuff. 

Which goes swimmingly because Eskild is _slick._

His parents miraculously aren't home, there's no way to see them as Isak and Eskild pile out key possessions via his bedroom window. It feels wrong and dangerous and Isak clams up a lot easier than he thought he did– but Eskild has the kind of focus in his expression that keeps Isak from slipping down the rope. 

Eskild’s keeping track of how many times Isak says _thank you_ that day, and by the time the sun goes down and they've set up his room to– quite literally– make it look like he's always been here, the guy counts one hundred and fourteen. 

Eskild also hugs him without permission once they get back into his hatchback, and. 

It leaves Isak feeling anew. 

Uncomfortable. Dirty. Burning. But new. New in a good way.

It doesn't hit him how fast it happened until he's lying under his own comforter with the door cracked open, until it's 23:00 on Sunday night and Isak realizes he hasn't done homework all weekend. It doesn't hit him until he's pulling out his bio notes and texting Sana for forgiveness, offering her a favor in return, doesn't hit him until he reaches to the right on the desk and doesn't knock his fingers against his prescriptions, but just a pen. 

Just a pen.

A pen he didn't have until this morning when Eskild demanded he write down contact information for himself, his case management team and any trusted contact in case he _”goes off the deep end.”_

He's pulling his phone to his ear before he even registers that his breathing has quickened to the point of blurring his eyesight. 

“Hey, uh,” he's talking before he's even sure he's picked up. “Have you ever– something ever happened where you're like ‘well this is bad’ but you just go with– you go with it and then it hits you like a day later that– that–”

“Isak,” Even’s whispering, his voice some kind of siren call. “Isak, take a deep breath.”

_Take a deep breath._

He does, and while it does very little to calm him down– having oxygen in your brain works magic on how close you are to crying. 

“What happened?” Even’s voice is so soft, it almost–

“I'm not going home,” he mewls into the receiver, and saying it out loud like that solidifies it. Makes him want to douse himself in gasoline. Makes him want to praise a god he doesn't believe in. “I'm not going home.”

“Wh– Isak, what's going on?” Even is a little more alert that time. Like he's waking up with each word Isak says. And that feels so wrong.

“I– my– friend, I guess, picked me up because he found me like, having a panic attack in the bathroom of a bar, and now I'm back at his apartment, and– he's letting me stay here.” Isak swallows a lot as he's talking, like the air won't stay in long enough. But there's a– is Even… laughing?

“You're a good storyteller,” there's a lilt in Even’s voice that Isak kind of wants to take offense to, but really really can't help– can't help huffing out a little laugh too. “I'll tell you what… text me the address. I'll come pick you up stupidly early. We can talk about it.”

“Even, I'm not– I don't know if I _want_ to talk about it,” he leans back in the desk chair, maybe a little exasperated and desperate. “I just don't know what I'm supposed to– how I'm–”

“Feel?” He supplies, and Isak's nodding before he realizes Even can't see him.

“Yes,” he sighs, eyes clenched shut. “Yes. Feel. I don't know. I'm so used to pushing everything out of the way. It's like I can't right now.”

“I…” Even audibly swallows. It's… kind of gross. In a cute way. “I have that exact opposite problem, actually.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, needing something to grapple onto as he holds his cast to his chest. 

“Like… my emotions kind of ruin everything, I can't do anything without… seeing what they've got going on first. It's like helicopter parents but with anger and a lack of a will to live,” he chuckles, but.

“Don't say that,” Isak mumbles, and the sigh he hears makes him regret it.

“You asked, kjære.”

“Yeah, but that was so morbid,” He tries to laugh, thankfully gets one in return.

“Morbidity is… like, my thing, Isak.” 

“Weird,” he rolls his head back. “I'm usually the one being told that.”

“Are you calling me weird?” Even’s laugh is a little lighter.

“I'm calling you… dramatic.”

“Now you're speaking my language,” he laughs again, and the. The air doesn't feel so tight anymore. 

What Isak doesn't say on the phone call– despite it having occupied his thoughts, was the playlist Even made him. Filled with songs like fairy lights in November, tunes like morning light filtering through curtains, melodies like burrito blankets and fluttering kisses on Saturday mornings. They made Isak have, like, synesthetic moments he didn't mind in the least, and he was going to ask Even what it was about, why each song was there (he seemed like the kind of guy that believed every small thing had purpose)– but couldn't gather the nerve.

Especially the last one, but. 

Instead he talked with Even about dramatics, about directing lives like movies and sure, everything's one-shot and Birdman-like, but gag reel moments are just as important as plot points in the production process. It adds depth, Even said. It makes characters human, seeing them imperfect. That's one of the reasons he hates Michael Bay -- everything is too _perfect._

Even also listened to Isak disagree, saying that nothing has real significance _(christ, and you call me morbid?)_ and that things will turn out how they were meant to turn out despite intervention, because there's places where those interventions never took place. In universes they'll never be able to see. In lifetimes they'll never have. 

“You have a wide scope of things,” Even murmured. Isak could almost _see_ his eyes drooping. “I think… that’s really nice. Adds perspective.”

“I think having a minute scope does, too,” Isak cradled the phone between his shoulder and chin as he crawled back into bed. “I think noticing the little things could be just as important.”

“Hey, Isak?” 

“Yeah, Even?” He lied on his side, facing inward on the bed as though the other boy were lying with him. 

“I think about kissing you a lot.” He mumbled it. He was so sleepy. Isak wanted to run his fingers through Even’s hair, feel him breath against the hollow of his throat.

As much as Isak wanted to pretend his chest didn't jump, as much as he wanted to pretend he didn't stop breathing. God. 

“Why… don't you?” He asked gently. Even swallowed again.

“I don't want you to have to use an entire bottle of mouthwash, or something. It– also, it makes this… real, I guess? Like now this is something tangible that–” he stopped.

“That…?”

“That I could get stuck in my head about. That I could ruin, because that's what I'm good at.”

Isak blinked at the empty pillow beside him. “I think you should just plan for shit sixty seconds at a time.”

“What?” Even kind of– sounded hurt? What?

“If you only think about that minute, what you're supposed to go and gonna do in that minute, how are you gonna ruin anything? I mean– jesus, I've spent a lot of night hoping some kind of fucking bomb would drop down so I don't have to think– or. I dunno. _Live._ I think you should just think about the next sixty seconds because, shit, Even, what if that does happen? Would you have wanted that whole minute to be spent overthinking things?”

Even was silent for a minute, the only indication of life on the line being his breathing. It was soothing. The rhythm it offered. Not the fact that Even’s eerie silence was the only thing that wasn't the fucking void around him. 

“Isak?” He breathed eventually, making Isak startle against his sheets.

“Yeah?”

“You keep taking away all my reasons to be sad,” Even’s– Even’s voice is damp. Isak's gotta fix that. 

“See how it feels? You do that to me all the time, too.”

“I… what?” Even shifts. Isak swallows.

“Yeah, you don't–” oh, shit. Well. Now there's tears in his eyes. He gets it now. “You don't treat me like a basket case. I'm glad I can help you, too.” And-- maybe it was Even’s goal from the start, but by the time Isak’s eyes drift closed for the last time, he can barely remember why he was losing it earlier.

***

Falling asleep on the phone with your– _fuck,_ what, _crush?–_ does two things.

Drains your phone battery for one. Makes you sit near the windows, near the outlets so you can charge it intermittently. Kind of distracting to make sure it doesn't get stolen or some shit.

Secondly, makes you sad that you fell asleep somewhere between _[I think you stole my sweatshirt when you slept in my car](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10913349)_ and _jesus, what time is it?_ because– because then you have to _wake up,_ realize he isn't there anymore and– and then also deal with the fact that you hate change and you've seen a _lot_ of that this weekend.

He decides not to mention it to his friends. Like, any of it. Nothing about– his dad or his mom, about the playlist or anything Even said that made his heart soar and drop and roll over in its grave. And… especially nothing that could allude to Eskild’s mere _existence_ in his life. No. He's got too much to digest in that department. Even if he did try to swallow it during that first day. 

Instead, he's– sort of– there's Vilde eyeing him as Even leads him into the courtyard backwards, long legs making Isak almost fucking _jog,_ what the hell? 

They're talking about how Isak's gonna get back into the kollektiv– he'd only ever been in and out with Eskild, completely forgot to ask about keys. He'd already texted him this morning, but y’know, Even– _maybe you could stay with me,_ he'd winked. Isak felt like he was gonna tip over. 

“He sounds like a decent guy, though,” Even’s eyebrows are raised as he makes his way. “I think– like, I know you said it sucks really bad, and I totally get that. But I think this could be really healthy for you.” And maybe the casual talk about it was doing more for Isak than he cared to acknowledge, but-- hearing Even talk about it so _normally_ just made it… Fine? It was fine. 

He didn’t fucking abandon his sick mother, no, didn’t leave her with his horrid father who was probably two steps ahead of him out the door that night. Didn’t leave her to suffer. He definitely did all those things. But Even’s voice made it… lighter.

“What if I have to go _back,_ though? Like, what if my social worker actually does her _job_ and throws legal stuff at me. Or what if she lets me stay, but my parents have to know where I'm at?” He furrows his brow, and Even swallows deeply before he speaks.

“Then… you have indefinite sleepovers at my place,” he tried to laugh (even if a little mirthlessly). It faded when Isak couldn't quite return it. “I… don't know, Isak. I can tell you that you're not about to go back, though.”

Isak raised a brow, about to ask Even how he could be so sure about something he barely knew about when–

“Not going back where?” Her daylily voice made both of them start, Even whipping on his heel and almost shoving directly back into Isak. He shouldered the taller boy, effectively keeping him afloat. 

“Shit,” Even mumbled, frantically smoothing at Isak's shoulder and–

“You're fine,” Isak squinted, a little smile playing at his lips when Even’s own earnest gaze couldn't keep still. And _Isak_ was the one who needed a hug? 

He noted that one for later as he turned to face Vilde properly. “Uh– we stopped at this supermarket on the way here…”

“The cashier wouldn't quit making eyes at him. She looked like she was about to swallow Isak whole, I had to get him outta there,” Even laughed. Isak stole a glance– did Even… actually do that?

Vilde studied them for a moment before something seemed to strike her line of sight like lightning, and then she was– fucking–

“Oh, wait!” She gasped _comically,_ drawing eyes from bystanders. Isak already didn't like where this was going. “You're Even! _Even_ Even!”

He raised an eyebrow at Isak, who. Honestly. Had just as much an idea as he did. “Magnus!” She turned, waving back at the semi-circle of friends who– were all staring as well. Great. This was fine. “This is Even!”

“Oh, shit,” Isak breathed, remembering the conversation Magnus tried to spark up. Knowing the guy (and his– his sort of baffling infatuation with Vilde), he probably told her _everything_ he'd speculated at the drop of a hat and– _fuck–_ Vilde doesn't keep _anything_ to herself. Which… meant that their entire group, if not all of ‘99, knew more about Even than _Even_ did, and–

“Isak?” There was a palm on his elbow, tearing him right out of his thoughts. He was giving Isak those baby blues of his, all concern and no agitation– shit. That was about to change. “Are you alright? You're looking sorta–”

“Magnus has zero tact,” he hissed. Even raised his eyebrows. He doesn’t have time to acknowledge Vilde’s flash at him. “His step-sister went to Bakka with you– I told you all this. But he has _zero_ tact. Absolutely none. He’ll probably start asking why you don't throw parties anymore or why you transferred or– fuck, I don't know, he– jesus, please don’t hate me if he--”

“Isak, Isak,” He whispered, eyeing Vilde carefully as she was waving her friends over. He wrapped an arm around the younger boy’s shoulder, tucking him close. As though the motion didn’t make Isak feel like he was drowning. “It's fine, I'm… pretty fucking good at deflecting stuff. It'll be okay.”

“Even?” They turned, Even’s hand clenching on Isak's shoulder. Isak swallowed. Yeah, that was fucking Magnus alright, looking goddamn starstruck. “Bech Næsheim?”

“That… would be me,” he smiled, letting go of Isak in favor of shaking Magnus’s outstretched palm. The conversation wasn't nearly as cringy and life-threatening as Isak first mapped it out to be– but. 

Two things: he'd probably alluded a little too much to his attachment to Even right then with his dumbass _don't hate me_ comment, why the fuck did he do that, and– and. Now most of them had met Even.

Sana and Mahdi were with them, which was _fine,_ but there was a look in that girl’s eyes that didn't lend itself to any explanation Isak wanted to hear this early. Eva had already been introduced, and that really only left Jonas– who… he was the most… apprehensive about. 

There wasn't anything to be scared of. He knew that. But there… was a lot of history Isak wasn't sure how to address right there.

Whatever. He forced himself to quit thinking about it as he sat in his first class, pulling out his phone.

_til **Even** (09:37) was that okay?_

_**Even** (09:42) that was okay. no worries.  <3_

***

Isak -- maybe for the first time this year -- gets a lot of homework done on Tuesday afternoon. He decides he’s gonna pointedly ignore it’s probably because he had a safe, quiet space to actually _do it_ for once. He gets all the way through his norwegian notes, though, and even gets a considerable amount of bio done before there’s a gentle tapping on his door.

He hears Eskild before he hears him, and Isak’s starting to identify that as one of his problems-- he still startles anyway. 

“Do you need a ride to group?” Eskild asked, wincing when he saw Isak jump. Isak made an effort to ignore that, but. Yeah. 

“No, it’s okay. And, Eskild--” He stops, holding up a hand when the guy starts to shift away from the doorframe. “You don’t have to like… be a father to me, or anything? You’ve-- like, I’m still-- I know I’m weird and stuff, but you don’t have to feel like you should hawk over everything I do. I’m like… super maladaptive, is all.”

Eskild studies him for a moment before sighing. He swings all the way in, moving to sit on Isak’s bed. 

“I _know_ that,” He said, looking at his feet as he found his words. “Do you remember what you told me that night at all? After we left, or anything?” He looked up to catch Isak’s gaze, and. Isak shakes his head. Honestly. He barely fucking remembers being able to stand up when they got outside the bar, let alone-- let alone literally _anything_ else. 

Eskild nods minutely. “I asked why you couldn’t go home… you just sort of went for it. Told me about how when you were twelve, you and your sister exchanged letters a lot, and she opened up about some really dark stuff? You told me one time she sent you two. One letter was a typical reply to yours, the other was her stream of consciousness as she wrote down a nightmare she had. In it, she talked about your dad… Isak?”

He furrowed his brow. Isak shook his head. “Are you…”

“My sister is, like,” He chuckled sadly, wiping a tear from his bottom lid. He’d started vibrating when Eskild mentioned him being twelve, knew right where the story was headed. “A surefire way to get me worked up. Keep going.” 

“She talked about your dad finding her in the kitchen in the middle of the night, she’d been up late studying and wasn’t gonna be able to get to bed soon anyway, so what was the harm in getting a snack… but he found her. She ran into your room, because you guys always slept with your doors open, and woke you up to get the nightstand in front of the door…” Eskild moved closer to him, sitting in front of where he was perched in his desk chair. “Isak?”

“Yeah, yeah, she--” He blew out a shaky breath. “We weren’t quick enough. Dad got in, she was so fucked. We both knew it, but my dumbass always thought I could protect her, and dad smacked me into the wall so hard it broke my nose. Lea screamed a lot. And-- and I told her, was it still a nightmare if I remembered it too?” He squeezed his eyes shut. Eskild moved up then, kind of bending over Isak to envelope him in a hug and-- and. Fuck. 

“That was when I knew you weren’t gonna go back there. I saw your cast and your neck and decided _fuck_ that.” Eskild whispered, sounding a little choked up himself.

“Eskild?” He mumbled, pulling back because he’d be damned if he got tears on this guy’s shirt, he’d feel horrible about it for the rest of his life. “I-- thank you. I really fucking mean it.”

“That’s one-twenty-one.” He hummed, palming at his own eye. Isak let out a huff of laughter.

“I don’t know if my social worker will let me stay here, though, and--”

“No offense, Isak,” Eskild cut him off. Isak barely got the chance to give him a confused look before he was continuing. “I don’t give a shit what your social worker says. I’m not letting you go back there.”

Isak ended up repeating most, if not all, of the conversation back to Even as they passed a joint back and forth in his car. He didn’t cry this time (either from dehydration or brain fuzz, who cared), but it looked like Even was verging on misty.

“And _that_ is why I’m not-- I don’t think I can go in there tonight. I don’t _want_ to skip again, especially because my attendance is kind of mandatory, but I just…”

“You’ve dealt with enough today?” Even asked, tilting his head to look at Isak. He nodded slowly. “Then we don’t have to. I’d rather be in here with you anyway,” He shrugged. A little smile playing on his lips gave him away. 

“What now, then?” He asked. He took another drag, slower and longer than he probably should as Even thought of a reply.

“Do you just… wanna go back to my place? We could start on that Harry Potter marathon?” He offered. Isak eyed him thoughtfully.

“Should you be driving?” He gestured with the joint. Even gave him a little huff.

“I’ve only had, like, three drags. And I only live eight minutes from here.” He shoved the key in the ignition slot, rolling down the window to see a little better. 

“Hey, Even?” There was a flowery feeling in his throat he didn't particularly– it was–

Even hummed in reply, apparently too slow for the other boy as he leaned across the console to peck at the corner of Even’s mouth.

They smiled the entire way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple things - 
> 
> if this feels stilted, that's on purpose. like that conversation in the locker room - something's off, but time doesn't slow down and because of that, you don't get an opportunity to address it. reading it back to myself, i noticed a lot of that, and i don't want you guys... to feel as jaw-clenchy as I did. if that makes sense. 
> 
> next one on Thursday -- and i'm still [@lachesisrn](http://lachesisrn.tumblr.com) on tumblr ;)


	10. X (and tell me where I been goin wrong)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! i'm still horribly winded as i'm typing this please excuse any typos
> 
>  **-the events of this chapter take place exactly 9 days after chapter 9.**  
>  \- at the time of posting this, i've had exactly zero time to be able to reply to any of your comments. i have a lot more free time this afternoon where i plan to do exactly that, but i wanted to be able to give you guys this chapter before i lose computer access for an excess of six hours.  
> \- i was gonna do it this morning prior to posting ch. 10, but I realized as i was copy editing it that i had another playlist to link that _hadn't even been uploaded to spotify yet_ so i had to drive home at the speed of light and fix that lmao.  
>  \- i'm still ridiculously thankful for all of your words and kudos. they mean the world to me.

Isak actually can't handle it– by the end of the next week, every time he registers the cast on his wrist is a moment he can feel the grime beneath it, inside of it. There's phantom itches and cramps that make him want to tear it off, stick his entire arm in the oven–

Obviously he doesn't, but. Boiling water on the stove as he prepares eggs is a long time to let himself think about it. The worst part is being unable to wash his actual arm– he _has_ to watch it build up. Can't do _anything_ to help it and– and he really can't handle it. 

The stove is kind of ridiculous, works as it pleases and maintains temperatures like sunspots, so he feels absolutely nothing as he walks away from it and into the bathroom. He's careful to lock the door seven times, careful to turn the sink on and off before he opens the cabinet beneath to grab a first aid kit that Eskild _clearly_ hasn't touched in _months._ The relief he recognizes when he finds shears inside the little pack make him almost dizzy, but he– almost feels disgusted that he needs to do this.

But he also… needs to do this. 

Needs to fissure himself from this fucking cast and all its unsanitary, greasy glory from his forearm. He can't really bring himself to feel bad when he absolutely destroys Even’s artwork in the process. It wasn't meant to last. 

If someone asked him how it felt to see the material fall to the pearly linoleum beneath, watch the slips of gauze and dead skin wash to the bottom of the sink as he scrubbed his wrist over with three, four, five different wash clothes until he felt something that resembled cleanliness, resembled satisfaction– he would say nothing less than orgasmic. Honestly. 

His wrist looks fucking terrible, if he's honest– still bumpy and swollen in weird places, virtually black and purple from front to back. The first thought that scratches at him is that he deserves it. The second one is that this won't heal without proper care. He doesn't even try to bend it. Anything other than stiff-arming the damn thing as he washed it had him bowling over in pain.

But hey. At least it was fucking clean.

And that's what he told himself as he scrubbed down the wrist brace Even gave him weeks ago, replacing the metal splints within as he tenderly encased it within. That's what he told himself as he returned to his boiling water, dropped the eggs in and waited. It was a greater comfort than he thought appropriate, but. It wasn't like he had to tell anyone.

***

He's got the lightest jacket he owns covering his shoulders as he steps through the gates, somehow a greater statement than if he wore short sleeves. Feels better than he has in a week. Decides not to point this out to his friends again.

Eskild let him make his own breakfast today, finally catching on to Isak's problem with letting others handle his food. He doesn't get upset and Isak thanks him again because he feels a little helpless– and Eskild is so quick to quiet him he almost melts into the floor with the pancake batter. Linn had even understood in ways Isak wouldn't have dare dreamed of in his parents’ home: wiping down the shower handles and sink after she's showered. He had no fucking clue how nice that would feel. He left her breakfast as well (well, Eskild made it but whatever), knowing she'd clamber from her room to eat it on her own.

Because his roommates weren't possessive and ridiculous and didn't question every move Isak made. They just handled it accordingly.

Isak’s felt better than he has all week.

“Someone’s cheeky,” Eva says, coy grin on her lips as she finds him in the canteen. Isak lifts a brow at her, stifling whatever expression he had on his face prior. Eva snorts. “Honeymoon phase?”

“What?” Isak asks, genuinely confused this time. Eva raises her eyebrows knowingly.

“You and Even?” She says, and. Oh.

He and Even– they've literally been talking all day and night, whether texting or phone calls or cradled in the seats of Even’s Solara. It's kind of… borderline ridiculous how close he's grown to the guy. But he can't help it and, if Even’s dumb giggling and soft eyes tell him anything, it's that he can't either. 

He gives Isak the kind of warmth he didn't know he'd even wanted, let alone needed. 

He looks back to Eva, watched her with her pursed lips and-- somehow _knowing_ smile. He wants to be honest, but if-- if it risks her figuring out something before he’s ready to talk about it (one of her _fucking_ specialities), he’s gonna deflect it. He has to.

“We– we’re not even official,” he tries to say, but the look on her face says she isn't buying it. “Really! We've only known each other for, like, a month.”

As he says it, his phone vibrates from its perch on his textbook, nearly falling off the damn table. He scrabbles after it (one handed and a little awkwardly, bringing another bell of laughter from Eva) before it falls.

“Is that him?” She smiles, and–

Something pulls at his throat as he sees the message, cold and stringy. Like literal fingers thumbing his trachea. 

_**Dad** (11:13) Petersen’s called for the third time this month. She says you've been skipping your appointments. _

Wow, Isak can't have one fucking good day, huh. 

He rolls his eyes, stuffs his phone in his pocket with a shake of his head.

“Nope, just dad. No worries.” She gives him a skeptical look for a moment, as though she's not sure “no worries” is a sentiment she can actually give. Isak can see it when she shifts back in her seat, opening her mouth to say something.

“Nothing’s… has anything happened?” She says each word carefully, as though any given syllable will break a dam. Isak sighs.

“No, I– I've got a system right now. I'm gonna try to ride it out as long as I can.” He shrugged and crossed his arms. If just completely _running off_ was a system, then, well. Yeah. She makes a gesture to the brace on his wrist, because it– it does spill out from his sleeve, around his thumb, there was no way to hide it anyway. 

“Upgrade?” She asked, and. Okay, sure. He nodded, and it seemed to dawn on Eva right then that she wasn't gonna get anything out of him. It also dawned on Isak that she was _looking_ for something.

It makes him a whole lot more eager to leave. 

And, as though a god send, his phone rings. Straight up rings because– because it's not on vibrate for some reason? And that has Isak sitting up real fast, jolting in his seat and getting a little rise out of Eva, too.

He only registers Even’s name on the caller ID before he's laughing under his breath, cradling the phone up to his cheek with his good hand.

“Halla,” he says, the kind of smile Eva was probably talking about splitting his cheeks. “What's up?”

“How–” his voice shutters out as he coughs. “How hard would it be to convince you to cut with me?”

Isak raises his eyebrows, studying Eva’s expressions as he gently closes his notes. 

“Not… as hard as you think, probably.” She gives him another coy look, and he flips her off (gingerly) with his left hand as he stands up. “Where are you?”

“About six meters to your right,” he says, making Isak snap his head that way. Sure enough, Even in all his excessive layers stood at that door and– that was most definitely Isak's beanie. Uh. Alright.

He furrows his brow as he stuffs his things back inside his bag, giving Eva a glare that probably came across too tetchy before he was stepping over there, but, it– he couldn't bring himself to care, if it meant escaping her gaze. He makes quick work of make of finding Even, shouldering him gently as though to gesture them outside. 

“What’s up?” He gives Even a small smile, making an actual effort to keep up with the other boy’s pace as he walked backwards through the courtyard. Even gives him a weak one in return.

“I watched you study for about twenty minutes before I decided it was worth trying to get you up,” He admitted, shrugging a little. Isak noticed how droopy his eyes were right then, how deep the purple pockets beneath them looked. It made the fluttering in his chest evaporate as quickly as it came. “I feel disgusting.”

“You don’t look too great, either,” He said. He slowed a little as they got to the gates, feeling weirdly responsible for Even as he moved in front of them to push the gate out of the way with his elbow. “Can you-- should you be driving?”

“I’ve done worse,” He said with a wink, doing very little to actually reassure Isak, but. Whatever. 

They did make it back just fine, really. Even’s always been particularly attentive to driving and Isak has no desire to ask why (it’s not like he knows differently, honestly). Inside his house is a similar story -- toeing off their shoes and coats in the entrance in comfortable silence. 

“You-- geeze,” Isak laughed a little. “How many siblings do you _have?”_

Even offered him a skeptical look as he pointedly hung his coats over the probable _dozen_ of others on the rack. Once it registered that Isak was-- actually half-serious, somehow, it made his expression relax a little. He held up an open palm, gesturing with his fingers as he counted down.

“There’s Jo, me, Anette, Silje, and Kjell.” He cracked a smile as Isak raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Wh-- how do all of you even _fit_ in here with your parents? That’s _seven_ people?” He laughed when Even rolled his eyes.

“I’m on the first floor by myself,” He lead Isak a little further into the house, gesturing to the staircase before rounding the corner to his room. “Anette and Silje share a room upstairs, Kjell’s still in the master bedroom with my parents…It works. We all run on way different schedules, so it’s never _really_ that crowded.”

His bedroom door clicked open softly, almost like he was afraid to wake someone up. Isak followed him in gingerly, sort of mimicking Even’s behavior. 

“Jo moved out, or something?” He asked, eyeing around at-- at how Even’s room hadn’t shifted an inch since he was here last. Huh. He turned to ask Even if he even lived in here, but the guy was sort of stilled against his bedroom door. “Uh-- Even?”

He squinted back. Even was clearly considering something, and Isak was too far beyond the point of antsy under his scrutiny to be comfortable anymore, but just as he went to say something -- Even shifted away, moving over to his desk and plucking up an overturned picture frame to put in Isak’s garbed fingers. He watched Even’s eyes get a little heavier in their sockets before he looked down.

He… instantly regretted saying anything. The photo was dusted over, clearly untouched for years, and-- Isak completely understood why, honestly. Even was recognizable as a gangly secondary student, hair unstyled and t-shirt somehow even looser than he wore them now-- next to him was a guy, maybe three years older than him with pursed out lips--

Isak’s exhale was heavy. He looked back up to Even and down back at the photo for a few times as the information sank in.

“You…” He swallowed thickly. “You look _exactly_ like him, oh my god.” A bitter little laugh escaped Even’s lips as he said it, sort of startling Isak. 

“Don’t say that,” He mumbled, scrubbing at his eye suspiciously with the heel of his palm. Silence hung over them for a moment as Isak held himself at a loss, completely unsure how to handle the situation. Luckily, Even did it for him-- with the kind of ice in his voice Isak typically only hears from his mother. “You know, I can’t even remember what he sounded like anymore.”

Okay, well. Fuck. Isak set the photo down gently, moving back to Even, and like, he doesn’t-- a big part of him knows this is going to be a bad move in about a half hour, but if it keeps Even from chipping apart? It seems like it’s worth it. So, he moves back. Finds himself pulling at Even’s shoulder with his good hand, tugging him into an embrace that has both of them shaking for entirely different reasons.

***

They’d crawled up to his loft bed hours ago, Isak lying on his stomach, arms curled beneath his chest (and yeah it really fucking hurt his wrist, but complaining about it was the furthest thing from his mind) as Even laid on his back adjacent to him. They looked at each other for a long time, only really opening their mouths to say something when it was necessary. They didn’t move closer, didn’t move farther away (even if there was room to allow for it, it wouldn’t have happened).

Isak takes real time in those moments to study how glazed over Even’s eyes are, how bruised the lids seem. He hadn’t seen Even for the entire weekend, and apparently, the guy didn’t sleep at _all._ Isak’s half-tempted to ask about his meds, if they’re really worth taking if it’s screwing with his sleep schedule this badly. Damn near almost offers Even one of his own sleeping pills. 

It doesn’t happen, though, because Even’s eyes eventually get heavy enough to lull closed after creating stories with the shapes on the ceiling that he doesn’t have to tell Isak. He almost doesn’t dare breathe, either, out of straight fear of waking Even up again. He does pull out his phone, though (had been situated under his stomach, it was barely any shifting).

He types in _manic depression_ in an incognito Google search, glancing over at Even as though he’s breaking some unspoken rule. 

And that’s how he spends his time until it’s too dark outside to walk home, until he hears the creaking of the floors around the house that indicate others in his family are home -- even hears them chatter as they eat dinner. It doesn’t bother him to keep lying there next to Even, making sure he actually gets some form of rest in favor of-- of anything else, honestly. He doesn't even want to be anywhere else.

The clock on his phone reads 19:49 when he texts Eskild that he may not be home tonight, and that there’s nothing to worry about. When he’d first arrived at the kollektiv, they’d set up a ground rule: if anyone mentions that they “won’t be home tonight” it _always_ means they’re in danger. It doesn’t matter what form. Adding a simple _”dw”_ at the end was the _only_ indicator they should use to call off the sirens. 

The clock reads 20:14 when he hears a rich voice say, “Even hasn’t answered his phone all day, have you guys seen him?”

Isak’s eyes dart down to where Even’s phone was settled between their hips, face down, and-- yeah, Isak wasn’t about to go through it, but if the nearing footsteps were any indication--

He pressed his sleeve-clad palm to Even’s cheek, stroking gently with his thumb as he leaned over him to press dry lips to his forehead (Isak decides to cram his thoughts about mouthwash into a fucking box in the back of his mind).

“Babe,” he mumbles, pressing a little firmer with his palm. Even groans under his touch, and Isak almost jerks back from the vibration he feels. “Your mom--”

As if on cue, there’s six sharp raps to the door that have Even jolting, too. He knocks his forehead into Isak’s chin as he props himself up on his elbow, hissing out an apology as he scrubs at his eyes. “No, shh,” He says, cupping Even’s cheek again. “Lay down, jesus. I’ll get it. Just lay down.”

It barely takes a second before Even’s sliding down again, looking at Isak blearily. His eyes are still hooded with sleep and -- and something about it makes Isak’s heart pound in his chest with just-- _affection,_ if he’s honest. Even’s about the cutest damn boy he’s ever seen in the first place. Sleepy-Even fucking takes it, though.

He rolls his eyes at himself as he unlocks the bedroom door, pulling it open with an eye to Even as he rolls over in his bed. He looks back to-- someone who is _definitely_ Even’s mom, she has to be with those eyes, when two things happen at once.

One: the stupid, giddy part of him gets soul-suckingly nervous as the thought dashes through him that _Even’s probably my boyfriend, right? I can call him that? Okay, so, the first time I’m meeting my boyfriend’s mother is on a Monday night when she didn’t know I was here and we’re in his room, cool, cool, time to die._

Two: his hand is cold from touching the bare brass of Even’s doorknob. The shock that sends through him is borderline worse than this horrid introduction to Even’s mother. Borderline. 

He stares down at his hand dumbly, clenching and unclenching it like the coldness was a direct transfer of polio into his bloodstream. His knees are suddenly a lot weaker when he looks back at--

“Oh, hi,” she breathes, evidently more than a little confused. “I… I’m Nina,” she sticks out a hand, eyeing the way Isak’s palm is then covered by his henley. “I’m Even’s mom. Are you a friend?”

“Good friend,” He says, if not a little bitten. “I’m Isak-- we met at Nissen. Um. I told him not to get up, he-- doesn’t sleep well, I imagine?” 

“Oh, is he…” She looks up to the loft bed a little curiously. Isak scoots to the side to let her in, noting how quietly she then moves. He swallows harshly as she steps onto the sofa, gripping the railing to his bed and peeking over. Even definitely had to have gotten his height from his father, then.

She steps down quietly with a nod. “Alright, well. He needs the sleep. Just let him know leftovers will still be in the oven for when he wakes up.”

“For sure.” He nods. She smiles warmly.

“It’s nice meeting you, Isak.” She says it on her way out, but again, two things happen at once when she closes the door: the cold still lingering on his fingers shoots up his arm, and the warmth her smile filled him with (also something Even inevitably got from her, he guessed) evaporating in its presence.

“That went well,” Even’s voice mutters, jarring him out of his trance. He jerks his head up to see Even with his chin perched on the railing, an arm hanging over lazily. “I wasn’t sure if you’d…”

“Handle that?” Isak laughed breathlessly, and Even nodded with a tired smile. “Me neither. Go back to sleep, idiot.”

“Idiot?” Even gasped, furrowing his brow. Isak offered him a glare as he tried to consider how to get back up the ladder without using his hands. “You were calling me ‘baby’ like, three minutes ago?”

“I--” Isak matched his expression, pointedly ignoring the way his face heated up. “No, I didn’t?”

“Uh, yeah,” Even sat up on his elbows, falling back down when Isak glared again. “You were like, ‘awh, babe, don’t get up, i’ll go get it,’ and shi--”

“Go back to sleep, idiot.” He sneered jokingly, matched with Even’s own. He studied the ladder again for a moment before Even cleared his throat.

“Do… you need hand sanitizer? Or?” He lifted a brow, and, wow, um. Huh. Isak’s a loss with that one, only really able to nod feebly through his surprise. Even pointed to the table behind him, mumbling something about it being in a drawer and, yeah, there it was. Half full and like a daydream.

Isak chastises himself for that one. That was a weird thought. Bye.

He rolled up his sleeved carefully, peeling the splint from his hand and laying it down gently on the desk. He worked the gel over his hands as thoroughly as he could manage with his fucked up wrist, and it works for a minute… until he hears Even. “Wait, Isak, what-- where’s your cast?”

“I took it off,” He mumbled without thinking. He’s not facing Even, so, it’s-- it’s a lot easier to bear his concerned sigh that way. “It felt disgusting.”

“Yeah, but your wrist? It might not heal properly if--”

“Can I tell you something terrible?” He said, looking at Even out of the corner of his eye. He’d moved to the other side of the bed, leaning on his elbows on the end closest to Isak. He quirked a brow before nodding slowly.

“Hand sanitizer, it-- it’s never as effective as just washing your hands. It can advertise itself like that all it wants, but it’s more like… a placebo than anything else. I mean, it, like, obviously it works? But a lot of schools around the world have banned it because a lot of people think it’s just a quicker way to wash your hands. It’s not the same.” He shrugs, continuing to dig it in under his nails. Even’s silent the entire time. Isak doesn’t need to look at him to see the confused look on his face. “It’s… like, I only use it because, even though I know about that… like, the scrubbing helps. I don’t know. I know it’s weird, but it helps.”

“It’s not weird,” Even says it almost _too_ quickly, but Isak’s not about to mention it. “If it helps… it helps.”

***

“I’m missing school to be here,” He says it quickly, like it’ll somehow get him out of having to be here. Petersen eyes him above her glasses for a moment before turning back to his chart. “I don’t know if--”

“It’s good to see you again, Isak.” Is all she says to shut him up, but it’s about as effective as a slap to the face. He’s vibrating in his seat. Too nauseous to stand up for anything. “Your father told me you haven’t been home in a while?”

“Yeah,” He sighs eventually. “I left one night when they were fighting. A friend is letting me stay at theirs.”

“That’s good,” She says, smiling-- _genuinely,_ and it surprises so much that his next comment dies in his throat. Seeing Petersen is like being interrogated sometimes, he wasn’t sure what to expect when he showed up this morning. But she’s… fucking smiling at him. “I’m glad. Your father mentioned being concerned that you were suffering a break-- I guess your mother had her first one in her late teens, as well?”

“Can you not--” He winces. “Please don’t compare me to my mom anymore. But… I can tell you for certain that this wasn’t a break. I just _needed_ a break, if that makes sense.” She nods in confirmation, typing out something on her computer before turning back to face him. 

“I didn’t think so, either,” She says, gaze still warm enough to make Isak’s throat dry. “I was only mentioning it because your father. I think… a change of scenery could be really good for you.”

She probably meant Eskild’s apartment. But his mind first flitted back to lying in bed with Even last night, the proximity overwhelming as they breathed the same hour for hours, as Even pressed their fingertips together in featherlike glances. He let Isak wash his hands in the sink as he brushed his teeth. It probably shouldn’t have been the first thing he thought of, really-- Petersen definitely meant the kollektivet. That kind of scared him.

Okay, well, scared him a lot -- but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he plugs in a playlist Even apparently made for him during his first class that morning, right as Isak sat in his psychotherapist’s waiting room. It was called [_fitzcarraldo_](https://open.spotify.com/user/xxlevibech/playlist/6vgdunxJDMJayiLuvncHo4) and it came with a message.

_**Even** (08:44) guess what the definition of that word is.  
**Even** (08:44) also, did you ever finish the other one I sent you like two weeks ago?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- also: @spencer i wanna publicly thank ur exhausted ass for _every little thing_ you've done for me this past 150 hours. talk about fuckin perseverance on your part. me  & my dumb ass control issues are permanently thankful. geeze. i have zero idea how i'm gonna get anything done when you move.  
> \- also: @penpal anon, thank you for helping me get out of bed every day. like... for real. you have no idea how much that means to me. i love talking to you. p.s. thank you for generally inspiring an event in chapter 17 ;) 
> 
> my sense of time is so fucked because of this week it took three different people just now to convince me it was Thursday. **next one Monday?** c: i hope you enjoyed!!!


	11. XI (but i swear i though i dreamed him)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man i totally forgot i had a three day weekend. thank fuck for memorial day. also where tf is the isakyaki instagram post. i'm salty
> 
> anyway! i hope you enjoy this one. it was a little harder to write because this is the first chapter that was impacted by the plot change i'm working on, but i hope that means the quality didn't go down. let me know what you think, your guys's words mean the world to me <3
> 
> p.s. thank you to [spencer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidefromeveryone/pseuds/hidefromeveryone) for giving me this fever-dream of a weekend and writing [the funniest and cutest one-shot i've ever read](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032272%22) which i'm _guessing_ was born from our Sunday.  
>  p.s. thank you to my penpal (whose incandescent name reflects all the luster and rosiness in her personality) for giving me a thousand and one reasons to smile every day.
> 
> as well - the **next one will be posted sometime Saturday.** i'm sorry for the extended wait. this entire upcoming week is about to throw me some serious curveballs (i run a newspaper  & this week is Page Design Hell Week and they never. go. smoothly.) and all my energy is like... bracing for impact.

“Oftentimes,” Bodil starts, effectively silencing the minimal chatter in the room. “Sharing… brighter memories from your experiences can help muffle the bad ones. It doesn’t make them go away, but it can definitely ease them depending on the context.” It was a prompt and Isak knew that, knew the other students in the group recognized it. He heard them shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh,” Even coughs, and Isak lifts his gaze. Even’s-- he’s been relatively vocal at all the sessions they’ve been to, sure, but it’s always felt as though there’s a… weird stigma around going first. But. Here he was? “So… after my brother, and stuff, my dad… like, took down all the pictures of him? And we just… kept living like nothing happened. We can’t talk about him. It’s like he… wasn’t there.”

“Have you tried to talk about him?” Bodil half-whispered. Even pulled his face into a grimace.

“I almost don’t want to. Getting diagnosed with PTSD and then having to recognize Jo as the _source_ of it was, like, some of the worst months of my life. Easy. I don’t want to rekindle any of that.” He sighed. “It’s like I didn’t have a brother, or something.”

Silence hung over the group, apparently at a loss for words. It hit weirdly close to home for Isak, and before he could stop himself--

“I never knew my sister,” Isak breathes out, picking at a loose thread on the brace. He can feel eyes scraping over him from all angles of the room, but he’s not about to look up either. What kind of bullshit is that. “I never… I was eight the last time I saw her. She only existed as this person who… lived in the same house as me. We were scared of the same things. That’s the only way I knew her.” 

“What do you mean?” Bodil asked softly. He quirked a brow at her. 

“I-- for years, my sister only existed as handwriting. _That’s_ how she became a person to me, became… Whole. Had a personality. In handwriting. It wasn’t weird and it never was, but if I’m honest… I couldn’t pick her out of a line up. I can’t remember what she sounds like. The only positive memory I have with her is, like… when she baked cupcakes on Christmas morning while our parents were asleep, woke me up to help her.” He blinked. Bodil’s eyes seemed to melt for a moment before she drew her clipboard over her face and took a deep breath. He eyed Even down the circle. “I guess we had the same smile, though.”

Even’s adam’s apple bobbed despite his unchanging expression. He leaned forward on his knees, and -- there it. Was again. Something way too vulnerable, way too private for a setting like this. His eyes didn’t look any better today, either, and -- alongside the horrid wave of concern that washed over him, also made him want to coddle Even into slumber.

Or give him a tablet of his prazosin. Whatever.

“What if… every memory of them… What if you can’t talk about them without making others upset?” Even asked quietly. Isak furrowed his brow. 

“Talk about them like you still know them,” Bodil interjected before Isak could formulate a thought, and he felt a weird spike of annoyance. He swallowed and gave Bodil a side-eye, getting a snort from his boyfriend.

_Boyfriend?_

***

“Boyfriend,” Isak tries the word on his tongue. “I guess… he’s my boyfriend.”

Jonas inspected him across the bench, stuffing another bite of food into his mouth and leaning back. It’d-- honestly, it had been a while since they’d just… sat and talked. Isak had actually seeked out Jonas to talk to him _for that reason._ Talking to Jonas was something refreshing that Isak couldn’t place, it was like… Gaining perspective. 

“Good looking guy,” he said around his food, getting a snort out of Isak. 

“What's he like?” He quirked a brow. Isak offered him a little smile.

“You guys would get along. For sure.” He leaned forward on his elbows to compensate for the space. He saw Jonas glance down for a moment, considering further as he picked his battles.

“You heard what people are saying?” He asked, braving eye contact. Isak shook his head.

“Even’s nuts, or something? I'm not trying to talk bad about him,” he backpedals at Isak's flattened expression. “I'm just wondering… if you'd heard. I guess he went off the deep end at Bakka. Repeating his third year after… getting into a fight or something? It's just a bunch of noise, y'know?” 

Isak blew out a slow breath, studying Jonas’s expression before saying anything. He determined it safe (this is _Jonas,_ for christ’s sake) after a moment. 

“He hasn't talked to me about it. I don't know what happened. I don't… really ask questions about it, because he’s already been through a lot– it's not like I want to remind him, y'know?” He shrugged lightly. Jonas nodded emphatically, putting down his food in favor of matching Isak's lean. 

“He know about you?” Jonas raised his eyebrows.

“He knows I don't… get along with my parents, and stuff. I told him about my hand, but… you know. I don't really let…”

“Yeah, man,” Jonas nodded again. “What happened there, by the way?”

“I, uh–” Isak shrugged, turning his wrist over. The brace was turning the skin on his forearm white from the squeeze. “You know. I don't fuck with dead skin. I couldn't handle thinking about it, so I just…” 

“I got it.” Jonas gave him a half-smile. It put Isak at an ease he wasn't really anticipating from the conversation, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

That– that was the thing about Jonas. He let Isak talk about this like it was normal because he knew Isak needed that sometimes. It wasn't like– like, both of them recognized that nothing about it should be treated normally, but Isak _trusted_ Jonas. The guy was one of the main reasons Isak's situation was being handled at all. Made it clear from the beginning he was _more_ than willing to just… help however he could. Sometimes that was having a normal conversation about it, where there was no poking or prodding.

“You tell Even about this stuff?” He asked lightly, taking another bite. Isak grimaced a little.

“I mean– I dunno. I trust him a lot. But I don't… wanna pile it on where it's not necessary.”

“He probably feels the same.” Jonas said it so offhandedly that Isak barely recognized it. He furrowed his brows as it registered.

“Wh–”

“Like,” Jonas wrinkled his nose. “He probably doesn't wanna push all his stuff on you, either, but if you… really think something could happen there… it might be worth having a conversation about.”

“Oh,” Isak exhaled. “I… yeah, I do. There's definitely something there.” Jonas quirked an eyebrow.

“Does that mean I can meet him?”

“You– what do you mean?”

“I know I saw him one time in the cafeteria, sure, but, like… barely.” Isak furrowed his eyebrows. He looked Jonas up and down in disbelief, before remembering his stream of consciousness a couple weeks ago– Jonas _was_ the only one who hadn't really seen Even yet. 

Well.

“Yeah?” Isak said it like it was obvious, but Jonas gave him a skeptical little glance anyway. “There's no way that wouldn't be fine, man, c’mon.”

“Just checking. Hey–” He leaned back again, something changing in his expression. Something more… playful? Isak quirked a brow. “You heard about Vilde?”

“I think Vilde hears about others,” he said, getting bark of laughter from his friend.

“Nah man, she… Magnus was gonna go after her at this party on Friday, and he followed her around the entire house to find her and Eva…” he waggled his eyebrows, and apparently got a lot of amusement out of whatever Isak did with his face just then.

***

“He's– I've known him my whole life,” Isak's looking at his hands. “His opinion really matters to me.” He can hear Even before he sees him, ducking down to catch the other boy’s gaze.

“Isak?” He tried. “If it's important to you, I'm glad to meet him. No big deal.”

“You sure?” Isak quirked a brow. Even nodded, pursing out his lips a little comically. It makes Isak sputter a little as Even peels his lips back in a smile. He sits up a little straighter in favor of brushing their noses together. 

They've been– there's a bowl of cheerios in his lap because Even said something about not eating since Isak left yesterday, so he's been tossing them at Even to make some sort of game out of it. It's proven pretty effective, light conversation between. The loft bed is sort of small, though, and they're not really far enough apart to make it challenging, but. Even’s eating regardless, so. Who's complaining. 

He tossed another one, trying not to scoff as it bounced off Even’s nose accidentally but _still_ landed in his mouth. He raises a fist in victory, and honestly, like– there's zero parts of Isak that want to take away the glitter in his eyes. 

“My mom thinks you're cute,” Even says offhandedly as he takes a second to check the time on his phone. It also only takes that second for something sore to manifest inside Isak's ribs at the mention. “I told her I really like you and stuff. Wants you here for dinner sometime.”

“That so?” He offers quietly, ducking his gaze down again to sift through the cereal. He hears Even shift again, looking up before he can quite duck down all the way. 

“That's like, your tell,” He says softly. Isak furrows his eyebrows, but Even keeps going. “Whenever you're uncomfortable. You… avoid looking at me.” 

“I avoid looking at anyone,” he tries to play it off, but Even gives him a gaze to say he isn't buying it. He also doesn't press it, though, looking out the window behind him to find the sunlight gone. 

“I– do you wanna stay here, again?” He asks lightly. “Mom won't mind…”

“I…” Isak shrugs, pursing his lips out in a lame imitation of Even’s expression earlier. “Sure?”

Even hums happily, winking at him with a promise to be back in a moment and– sure enough, that's exactly what happens. He comes back with folded clothes and a stack of DVD discs that–

“I was serious about the Harry Potter marathon,” he says, tossing them up on the mattress as he climbs back up. “And– these are clean, I just grabbed them from the dryer. I don't want you to be uncomfortable?”

“Oh my god,” Isak laughs breathlessly, completely overwhelmed for a moment as he considers– considers that Even considered _him._ It steals his breath for a moment as his fingers find the soft texture of the sweatpants Even grabbed, and– 

“Is it okay that the sleeves are short?” And Isak nods wordlessly around the lump in his throat, looking back to Even. 

“You're _insufferable,”_ he finds himself saying, leaning forward a little to gush over it when Even beats him to the punch with a hand to his own heart.

 _”Insufferable!”_ he exclaims, and Isak's laughing again. “Excuse me! I bet– I bet you’re like, uh,” he scoots closer, pulling the cheerios off to the side and leaning in close with his phone to his ear. “Uh, 112? I think I caught feelings?”

Isak's _laughing_ and Even– Even feels like he's _melting_ as Isak shoves weakly at his shoulder. Even leans in a little closer to bump their noses together, and Isak, he can't–

Something jumps in his throat when it registers Even brushed his teeth when he left a minute ago. It makes him want to laugh, wants to tease Even for _planning something,_ but it's so overwhelming again that Even considers what Isak thinks about that he–

His fingers thread in the hair at the nape of Even’s neck as he tugs him closer like that, the other boy leaning across the space between them with a palm to the mattress. 

Needless to say– Isak's never had the desire to kiss someone before, never considered this kind of contact with another person let alone _want_ it. But this– this is warm and just on the right side of dry as Even tips his head, pressing into the space a little further and then–

And then it's just _warm_ as Even's hands come up to cup his cheeks, pressing a little more insistently like he can't quite help himself and _honestly_ it's not like Isak can do much better? He's wrapping his free arm, his busted arm around Even’s shoulder and–

It's either one long kiss or a hundred little ones, Isak loses it somewhere in the middle. It's overwhelming and he can't decide how, and he kind of wants to press it until he can decide. It doesn't look like Even’s complaining, honestly, his exhales long and heavy against Isak's cheek. 

Until there's a tongue tracing his bottom lip, and it makes him jolt back like a bee sting. Even’s hands fall away just as quickly, looking flushed and embarrassed and–

“I'm so sorry,” Even says desperately, but Isak's shaking his head, more embarrassed than Even can probably fathom. “I– I didn't mean to–”

“It's okay,” it's breathless as it leaves his lips, back of his hand swiping across his mouth. Even stills as he takes Isak in, a guilty smile flashing over him. “I just– it's not you, you didn't do anything, but– do you have mouthwash? I'm really sorry, it feels like my mouth is burning, I…” he winces uncomfortably, but.

Even’s gaze is nothing but warm. He reaches out with his sweatshirt-clad palms, cupping Isak's cheeks again. 

“You're so– how are you this cute?” He says it fondly, and Isak would probably be dissolving if not for the scorching on his lip. 

Even does have mouthwash. He doesn't say a word as Isak rinses his mouth three times before changing into the offered clothes (also not commenting on how oversized it is, but honestly, Isak's never felt so cozy in his life). 

He notices Even’s bleary eyes before they're halfway through The Sorcerer’s Stone. The laptop is situated between their legs as they lied on their sides, looking down to– well, okay, Isak's actually been watching Even to see if he dozes off at some point. He's got his left arm pulled over his stomach, and before he can really stop himself, his thumb is tracing the shell of Even’s ear.

“Don't leave,” Even mumbles sleepily. It sticks in Isak's throat like a thorn.

***

He’s been sitting in Olsen’s office for about fifteen minutes, sleep thumbing at his eyes when she finally speaks. He’s hunched over on a desk, chin supported by his arm, the other flopped uselessly in his lap because-- because it’s useless. Yeah.

“You okay?” She asks, eyes soft. Isak shrugs lamely.

“Getting so little sleep on school nights messes with me,” He said, a yawn popping the bubble in the room. Olsen quirks a brow.

“Is-- your meds?” She looks to her computer for-- probably for his prescription chart, or something, but he shakes his head against his arm.

“No, they’re fine. I’ve… been kept up with other stuff.” He let his eyes droop closed again as she searched through her monitor. It was blessedly quiet for a moment before she spoke again.

“Anything I need to know about?” She asked lightly. It was a loaded question. Isak completely recognized it, and despite the tendrils of sleep curling around him right here in his social worker’s office-- he was still compelled to lie. He furrowed his brow and sat up a little more, deciding not to think about that one for too long, because. This was his social worker’s office. He _has_ to let her know. 

“A lot’s happened,” He yawned into his elbow. “Yeah, you should… yeah.”

She nodded at him as she pulled a legal pad from her drawer, glossy pen at the ready when he rolled his eyes. “I, uh-- about… two and a half weeks ago? Or… yeah. I was having a really bad day on _top_ of having my father assault me, more details to come,” He raised his palms when her eyebrows shot up her head. “And I-- like, something weird happened where I just… spaced out. For _hours._ I know it was that long because when I… came to, I guess, it was pitch black outside and my mom was just getting home.”

“She…” Olsen furrowed her brow. “Back up, please. Your father assaulted you. Your mother came home late. Can you tell me more about that?”

“You know about the wrist thing,” He held it up for emphasis. “He didn’t mention anything about the cast. Neither did mom. It was fine, I can’t say I expected them to care in the first place. But… I guess he did acknowledge it. I walked away from him without addressing him and he didn’t… he doesn’t appreciate that. Thinks I’m taking his love for granted, or something, I have no fucking clue. Either way, he slammed me against the wall and pinned my hand to the wall, tried to choke me out and threatened me…” He swallowed as he watched her make a bulleted list of everything he’d said. This felt too clinical.

“Keep going,” she mumbled. He shrugged.

“Then I went to my room. Mom got home super late, they immediately got into a fight about how the other person is destroying the family… I couldn’t do it. I had to leave. I packed a bag, jumped out the window and haven’t seen them since.”

Olsen promptly put her pen down, eyes hard on Isak’s. She exhaled a deep, long-suffering sigh as she turned to her computer again.

“Can you give me an approximate time?”

“It… maybe, like, one?”

“One,” She was nonplussed. Something stoney blossomed in Isak’s stomach. Well. So much for this conversation. “She got home at one. You know your mother has a curfew? Court ordered? She needs to be home by twenty-one every night?” Isak gave her an incredulous look.

“Are you-- she’s _never_ home that early. Are you sure?” Olsen gave him a look that spoke volumes about her frustration, and it made him sink back into the chair. Alright, well. If nothing else triggered his fight or flight instincts. It was _that fucking look._

“Where’ve you been staying?” She asked instead. Isak decided to take the change easily. 

“I-- an old friend shared a kollektiv uptown a little bit, when she moved out, they had a free room. I bumped into her old roommate and he offered to let me stay.” If that wasn’t the understatement of the century. Huh.

Silence hung over them. Olsen nodded as she typed, seeming half-engaged here and inside her monitor, but-- Isak’s consciousness was raptured with how stilted the air had become. It found him picking at his nails. “Are-- are you gonna make me go back home?” He tried.

“No,” She said. The stone dropped out of Isak’s stomach. “No, I… I couldn’t. I really don’t want you in that house, either. You’re in a safe environment, right? I’d… I have to schedule a visit to make sure your conditions are... quote unquote _satisfactory._ But you don’t have to go back to your parents’ home, no.”

“Oh,” He said dumbly. He’d completely anticipated her to throw some cryptic law about custody at him, but. Here he was. “Yeah… that can happen.”

“You sound… really disconnected from your trauma, Isak.” She exhaled as she searched his face. He shrugged.

“Gotta cope with it somehow,” He said flatly. Olsen’s eyes widened. “I don’t have time to cry over it.”

“You’ve said that before,” She nodded slowly, a lock of hair falling from behind her ear. “Have you mentioned this to--”

“Petersen knows me better than I know me,” He laughed mirthlessly. “She’s more than aware. Trust me.”

***

It’s hardly passed 22:00 as Isak sits on the bathroom counter, toothbrush jammed firmly in his mouth as he types out a lengthy message to Eskild about Olsen’s conditions. He’s already been here for about eight minutes when he figures he’s put it off long enough. 

But also, it’s hardly passed 22:00 when the fucking _doorbell_ rings. What.

He squints suspiciously, wondering if that’s Eskild _himself--_ He thought he gets _off_ at 22:00 though, there’s no way he’s home yet? Let alone forgot his keys? Let alone _didn’t say anything in the group chat?_ It’s definitely not Eskild. 

Linn wouldn’t have company over if it killed her-- and none of Isak’s friends know he’s here.

Well, wait.

Wait.

It shocks him into action, socked-feet padding towards the entryway with his toothbrush still hanging from his lips when he looks through the peephole, and--

“Even?” He mumbles around it, looking at the other boy confusedly. Even’s skin looks drained, eyes a little bloodshot at he gives Isak a weak smile, and-- if Isak was wearing long sleeves, he’d pull him into a hug. He really would. “What-- what’s up?” instead of _what are you doing here,_ that’s a little too accusatory when it looks like the guy’s fresh off-- fresh off crying. Uh. 

He looks _really_ fucking guilty all of a sudden. It makes Isak’s heart sink.

“I… I can go? I’m sorry, you were--”

“Hey,” Isak still talking around his toothbrush but, like, he can’t really bring himself to care? “Hey. It’s okay. Come in, please.” He pinches the sleeve of Even’s jacket with his forefinger and thumb, pulling at him with what he can grip. Even looks at the floor uncomfortably as he steps through the threshold. “You can leave your jacket and shoes there, just let me…” He gestures to to the toothbrush. Even nods minutely.

When he gets back, Even still seems frozen. Isak quirks a brow. “What’s up?”

“I just… I don’t know. I wanted to see you, so I just…” Even shrugs guiltily again, and Isak’s had about enough of that.

“It’s okay! I promise. Do you want to go to my room? I don’t want Eskild bumping into us, he’ll never leave you alone,” He laughs a little dismally. Even nods, but, he. Doesn’t move.

Okay. Well. This is a thing Isak’s about to do, he decides. He’s gonna do it. It’ll be fine. “Here,” He breathes, extending out his right hand. “I’m right here.”

Even _clearly_ doesn’t want to-- to really talk or move, or anything, which. Makes Isak’s heart splinter dolefully. It flashes through his mind that this might have something to do with his mood disorder, but he’s really _really_ not about to say it out loud. Instead, he takes the two steps forward to weave his fingers with Even’s (which he-- he doesn’t immediately regret, but he’ll have to overthink that one another time). 

Even goes willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> true story: my cousin's a rapper. when he was in high school he went through some super hard times, started writing music and did a lot of drugs. the thing was like... he made it? but before that he had some really bad bumps in the road and ended up relapsing after, like, three years of being clean. everything sort of fell apart. he had to start all over -- but he's been clean ever since and now he's super successful and super happy. i'm telling you this because i'm seeing him this afternoon and it got me thinking about all the journeys you have to have before you're... y'know, 33 years old with a wife and kid, meeting the president to talk about opioid addictions in inner-city youth, know your definition of "hard times", and can go to bed every night just... happy. 
> 
> you still have time to be happy. please see what happens if you just... stick around a little while longer. every day can be terrible, but that doesn't mean you know tomorrow is gonna be terrible too. the sun will rise and you can try again.


	12. XII (if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: wakes up at 19:00  
> me: it's sunday in europe. cool. i missed exactly Everything i was supposed to do today.
> 
> in other news my sleeping schedule is fucked! absolutely demolished. good thing i only have a week and a half of studying left am i rite
> 
> gonna try my damnedest to get **chapter 13 up on Wednesday** \-- the problem i'm having is that i dissected this fic and completely rearranged all its innards and now i can't get chapter 13 to look or _feel_ how i want it to _at all._ that was 60% of the reason i spaced this one so far out, so i could give myself time to work on it? but then the newspaper i run kicked my ass and i've been sleeping every moment i'm not standing in that news room. case in point: saturday, 3 june. so i've had exactly no time to work on it. but i'm gonna force time into my schedule (hopefully, fucking hopefully).
> 
> also here's some gentle reiteration that the childcare system in this fic is based almost exclusively on my personal knowledge of it.

“If you’re falling asleep in my passenger seat, should you even be coming to school?” Even asks lightly. Isak rolls his eyes, settles his head back against his shoulder.

“I’ll be okay. I’m just… tryin’a squeeze in an extra few minutes.” 

“We’re in the parking lot, Isak.”

“No?” He looks at Even skeptically despite the other boy gesturing out the windshield to-- yeah, the parking lot. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ha, ha,” Even deadpans, squinting a little as he leans closer to Isak. “You’re just lucky we still have twenty-something minutes until the bell.”

“Damn right,” Isak nods lamely. It makes Even huff out a little laugh, so. That was totally worth it. The silence washed over them after that, highlighting the– the weird comfort they had, where nothing was quite awkward and felt whole. The only noise to burst the bubble was the clatter of students who made their way past them, which… was like an offkey lullaby in tune with the instability of Even’s breathing, if you asked Isak. 

“Isak?” He murmured eventually, almost like he was… scared, or something. Isak hummed in reply, not bothering to lift his head from where it was settled against the nook in the window. Even cleared his throat. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for not taking off,” Isak chuckled. He could feel Even’s gaze before he saw it. “You– like, I was so sure you were gonna jump ship if I fell asleep before you did.”

Even’s gaze turned skeptical. 

“Are you serious? Is that why you stayed up with me?” 

“I stayed up because I wanted to make sure you fell asleep,” Isak replied easily. He shifted from the window to face Even a little more. “You actually need it more than I do. And I have clinical insomnia.” He laughed lightly. It didn't quite get the same reaction from Even, though. 

“I didn't mean to do that to you,” he said softly, a little sorrowfully. Isak furrowed his brows, taking in the discomfort over Even’s face. He had a good idea of how to remedy the situation, at this point– getting himself to do it was something else.

“You didn't do anything,” he said. It didn't look like it helped. “I want to help you.”

“And I want to take care of you,” Even admitted, voice a little hoarse. Isak noticed how far back the other boy crowded himself against the door. “I don't want you to worry about me. Please.”

Well.

“Can I– I'm gonna say this, and you can decide what to do with it. Anything is fair game after I say this. If you get out and walk away, I'll get it.” He leaned over the console, giving Even his best serious face, which. Was apparently pretty effective.

“I'm not gonna,” Even said, maybe a little desperately. He swallowed, leaning in close to Isak's space. “Believe me, I couldn't even if I wanted to.”

It took him aback for a second. Isak soldiered on nonetheless. 

“OCD isn't– it isn't called that because you are obsessed and compelled to have things a certain way just for the _sake_ of having it that way. You are obsessed and compelled to have things a certain way because if it's _not_ that way, the only alternative is certain death. Your brain doesn't give you the opportunity to think otherwise. It's an anxiety disorder, and you know what that's like.” He nodded earnestly. Even kept up.

“I've heard that before,” Even whispered into the space, sort of reminding Isak how small they were in this Solara. He swallowed harshly.

“[OCD is seeing the future.](http://lachesisrn.tumblr.com/post/161411853950/more-a-little-bit-about-this-watch-this) It's where you watch the people you care about die over and over again, and you spend the entire day retracing your steps to see what you could have done to keep it from happening. So when– jesus, Even, stop looking at me like that,” He reached up without thinking much of it, thumbing at Even’s eye to keep the tears back in there. “So when a pretty blond boy asks you to stay the night and then spends most of it bleary and exhausted, you wonder, _if I comb my fingers through his hair once, or three times, or five, or seven, or eleven–_ you know? If you're asleep by seventeen, and you _were,_ then something… shifts. I don't know. I knew you'd wake up and be safe. Even if it was at the risk of contracting some unnamable illness that eventually kills _me.”_

Even studies him for a long time, the rims of his eyes splotched and flushed. He smacks his lips one, twice, three times before he mumbles,

“You saying you think you have super powers?”

Isak's taken back to that moment in his car weeks ago, when he first asked about Even’s mood disorder. How Even sometimes thinks he has super powers. It makes something in his throat catch, apparently audible by Even’s own furrowed brow. 

“I'm saying… if I think there's somehow a way I can keep you safe… I'm gonna fuckin’ do it.” 

“So your power… is in prime numbers.” He squints. Isak matches his expression. 

“What's yours?” He asks quietly, and he can hear Even’s adam’s apple bob more than he can see it. 

“I'm invincible,” he raises his eyebrows quickly. “No one can touch me. Nothing can hurt me. It’s like-- like I lose all meaning, or something. I can do and say whatever I want because it doesn’t have consequences. Everything sounds like a good idea because I know I can get away with it. Everything’s in technicolor and so am I.”

“Then how about,” Isak risks it, what the fuck ever. He looks down to properly tangle their fingers together. “Then how about you let me make sure it stays that way.” Even furrows his brow.

“You…” He squints in confusion. “Want… me to be manic all the time?”

“I want you to feel like you’re safe, is what I meant. Being manic for too long probably causes brain damage,” He laughs a little acidically. It makes Even huff, too, his fingers squeezing at Isak’s. 

“Yeah, it’s called an MDE,” He chuckles like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and, honestly, Isak completely gets it.

***

“Fuck,” Eva exhales like she’s just taken a shot. “Isak, oh my god. What the fuck? Why didn’t you call me? What if Eskild hadn’t found you?”

“Yeah, uh,” Isak blows out a breath. “I try not to think about that. I wasn’t about to wake you up in the middle of the night, god knows I’ve done that enough times.” He shrugs. He hasn’t made eye contact with her since they started talking, picking at the fraying bits at the base of his wrist brace. He swallows harshly when she stays silent.

He texted her during his first class, saying he had something he needed to talk to her about and, as Eva does, she responded with the kind of urgency in her wording that made Isak feel like he’d been _lying_ about this when-- that was literally the exact opposite of what he was trying to do. It stung. He just needed time to grow used to it, to have answers to the question he knew he’d be asked. _Especially_ by Eva, who always means well, she’s just… 

She’s around Vilde a lot. If that makes sense.

He also didn’t to put anymore of his baggage on her shoulders, but saying that out loud would bruise the conversation irreparably and. Isak didn’t know if that was something he could ever really handle. Maybe with Vilde, maybe with Noora. Not fucking Eva, though. She’s too good for him. Too good for this world.

“I’m gonna try to pretend really hard that you weren’t thinking clearly,” She says eventually. Isak shrugs.

“For what it’s worth, I really wasn’t. It felt like my brain was seven inches to the left of my skull.”

“It _sounds_ like you were _fried._ How the fuck did you even get into a bar?” 

“I…” He trails off, shaking his head. He chances a glance at her and-- well, that was a fucking mistake. Her eyes are puffy and her lip is damn near bitten off with worry. And Isak did that. Why the fuck. “I don't know, Eva.”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh that has Isak wishing he'd never asked to talk to her in the first place. She leans forward on the bench to rest her chin in her arms, looking around like– like she's lost. Isak hates himself a little bit. 

“I'm glad you're safe,” she whispers. “I just… don't know why you kept that from me. I _know_ Eskild, too.”

“I swore him to secrecy,” he says guiltily. Eva raises her eyebrows at him. Which. Is totally justified. Last time he tried to do that to someone, it was _her,_ and he was making her promise something far worse. “He said he'd keep it down low until I… was fine, I guess.”

“Does he… _know?”_ she asked tentatively. He grimaced.

“I think he knows… more than he should, maybe. I guess I told him a bunch of stuff after I blacked out.” He shrugged. Isak looked down to his brace again when Eva clicked her tongue in thought. “He's… I'm glad he was there. I don't know what I would've done.”

“If you didn't reach out to me…” Her voice is low again. “If not me… then why not Jonas? Why not _Even?”_

“I…” he swallows harshly again. “I don't know. I don't know. There's– it just wasn't a good idea. Jonas would have flipped. You shoulda seen him when I went to his house with my wrist. I thought he was gonna, like, unspool. It was weird. And– like, maybe some part of me knows that things are moving really fast with Even. Calling him, drunk, at two… seemed like skipping a couple steps. I just felt like I didn't have any options.”

_”Isak.”_

He snaps his gaze up. Eva’s looking at him firmly (if not a little watery). Isak can't breathe. “You _always_ have an option, jesus christ. You _always_ have a way out. _You_ taught me that. It can be me. I don't care if you don't have anything else. You always have me.” She says it vehemently, making Isak's eyes water as well. 

They stare at each other for a long time before Isak– before he just. Moves around the bench, settling in on her side and wrapping his arms around her. She pulls him in close as well and– and Isak's never realized how nice Eva smells? “This is the most legendary hug ever,” she's saying. “I never thought you'd be willing to…”

“Some things are more important than discomfort,” He mumbles.

***

“This– Eskild doesn't have a mean bone in his body,” he jokes lightly, cradling his bad arm to his chest. “He's nothing but considerate and helpful and has been the entire time I've been here.”

Olsen studies the man in question warily. She's holding a stack of papers to her chest like she's worried he’ll steal it.

“This is a major step up for you,” she considers, eyes never leaving Eskild. “There's not _actual_ reason I can't let you stay here. But– and this isn't me saying this– your parents need to be in-the-know. The entire case revolves around their ability to parent and custody rights.”

“Do they get to have this address?” Eskild asks. He’s sort of matching Isak's position, leaned back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. He looks _fatherly_ for a second and– and it kind of scares Isak?

“Unless Isak wants them to, no. Age of consent here is 16; after that, most of… most of everything is in Isak's hands. It's because he's not 18 that there's still custody problems.”

“What– aren't you 18 soon?”

“In seven months, sure,” he shrugs. Eskild nods wearily. “But… yeah, don't tell them where I'm at.”

“Sure thing.”

“Why didn't you leave sooner?” Eskild asks, making both Isak and Olsen freeze. The air goes from thick to thin almost instantly, and. Well. If that ain't somethin’.

“I can't… actually tell you that,” he mumbles. Olsen lets out a deep sigh. That was the right thing to do, then, but Eskild’s eye say far differently.

The rest of the meeting goes peachy. In short, Isak gets permission to stay with Eskild. He’ll pay rent and still attend Nissen. It actually works out pretty smoothly– but exactly no parts of the tension in the room leave with Olsen. 

“How're you gonna pay rent?” Eskild squints. Isak clicks his tongue.

“I can… figure it out. I have this. Don't worry.”

“And– you don't have to tell me, but why…”

“Couldn't I move out sooner?” Isak raises his eyebrows at Eskild’s nod. “You wanna hear something really fucked up?”

Eskild’s face pales, but he nods anyway.

“On paper-- if my parents give me up, I guess, I can’t… I’ll never get answers about Lea.”

“What are you talking about?” Eskild tilts his head. Isak sighs bitterly, moving to sit across the table from him. 

“Our claim is… it’s, like, 99% deeming if my parents are fit to raise kids. If I leave, the claim’s sort of… cold-cased. It sort of becomes pointless to pursue, because what’s the point of proving they can’t raise kids if no kids are living at home? If they aren’t _raising_ any kids?” He squints, looking down at his wrist. “It… if I moved out, it was sort of like saying what they did to Lea was fine. If I kept living there and the case was eventually seen through, they’d _have_ to get Lea’s side of the story. She’d _have_ to come back to Oslo and see it through. For legal reasons. Then… there’s a window where I could see her.” He was mumbling by the end, almost inaudible to Eskild evidently, as he kept leaning over the space between them.

“Are you…” Eskild cleared his throat. “Are you… giving that up by being here now?” He quirked a brow. Isak shook his head.

“I still legally live at Casa de Valtersen, and that’s can't really _change_ if my parents… aren’t… seeking to change it. Which… I guess they’re not. Otherwise Olsen would have mentioned it just now. It’s been three weeks. They’re not looking. Which is fine!” He adds quickly, upon seeing Eskild’s contempted expression. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t know what I expected, honestly. It really is okay.”

Eskild looked around like he needed to leave, or something, which. Isak completely understood. The situation sounded ridiculous to his own ears, too. As the clock ticked and drawled between them, though, something changed a little bit-- Eskild leaned back in his seat, fingers twisted together in his lap.

“I don’t mean to change the subject,” He starts. Despite that, it. Still sends up about 89 of Isak’s red flags. “But while we’re going through the heavy stuff… Who is Even?”

Oh. Duh. Okay.

“He-- he’s something,” Isak stops himself. “I met him at group. Why?”

“I know I saw him leave your room the other day…” Eskild quirks a brow despite his… unreadable expression, actually. Isak has no idea where he’s going with this.

“Wh-- am I not… allowed to have guests? I always heard Noora telling stories about your hook-ups--”

“No, no, Isak,” He laughs lightly, sitting up a little straighter. “Are you guys a thing?”

“We have a thing, I think,” Isak squints, a little amused. A lot amused. Whatever. “We’ve literally only kissed _once,”_ he tries to emphasise despite Eskild’s little squeal. “Once. But we spend… like, way too much time together. We talk all day and all night. It’s really nice.”

“You two… exclusive?” He looks positively bubbly, and Isak. Wants this to not be happening. What the hell. 

“I… does it sound like we’re not?” And when Eskild replies with a wink, he suddenly gets it. “Oh, _jesus_ Eskild, why--” 

Isak hides his face in his hand, clapping his forehead down against the table outside of Eskild’s laughter.

***

“Remember when I said I get stuck inside my head a lot?” Even sighs, eyes flitting around the ceiling. Isak nods minutely. “I… yeah.”

“What’s up?” Isak rolled over to his stomach to see Even a little better. The other boy’s drifted to the side to meet his gaze. 

“Imagine…” Even swallowed, twisting his head. “Can I hold your hand?” Isak reached out wordlessly, taking Even’s right hand in his own. Even threaded their fingers together gingerly. “Imagine a pendulum, right? It swings back and forth pretty evenly. All the way up and back and forth… yeah. Now put memory foam on either side. The pendulum still swings, right? But the oscillation is like… inhibited from reaching its full potential.”

“Yeah?” Isak said eventually. Even had stopped murmuring long ago, but. It seemed inappropriate to break the silence.

“My… fuck. It’s like I can’t take deep breaths anymore. I can have as many episodes as I want, but they’re so mild now? It feels like I’m dead.”

“Are you…” Isak didn’t want to say it, but. Even didn’t take any offense.

“Sure, I guess. Can I tell you a secret?” He twisted so he was lying on his side, pulling Isak’s fingers to the base of his throat. “I haven’t taken my meds in a long time. It’s like they’re still in my system or something, though? I can’t…”

“Even, what?” Isak made an effort to not sound accusatory, because he wasn’t mad in the least. It made his heart skip two or three beats because he was fucking _worried._

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know.” He leaned in a little, blowing out the kind of breath Isak _knows_ because he’s--

“I don’t want you to be alone right now,” Isak mumbles a little regretfully, because. He definitely needs to get work done. Definitely needs to figure out how rent’s gonna happen, definitely needs to get to school on time, but he just… “Can I stay with you?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Even mumbles, eyes drifting shut. Isak swallows. 

Okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi spencer. we have less than 275 hours. can you fucking believe it? also i 100% did the milkshake thing. i think you're gonna be happy with it. i fucking wrote it while listening to "the boy who blocked his own shot" too like.... it's golden. 
> 
> hi penpal -- at the time of posting this, it's like... freakin five in the morning over there? oh man. i hope you've been able to find sleep after the day you've had. also, your blog is bright yellow and for some reason & in combination with your words it was like the literal sunrise on my face when i read your messages just now. it was a lot more pleasant than it probably sounds c;


	13. XIII (if you cross my heart then i'll hope to die)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all!  
> i know i said i'd post on Wednesday, but like... my neighbor picked yesterday to shoot himself in the head, and like. i didn't particularly handle it well. but. it also fueled me to finish this chapter, so.... c:
> 
> per usual... hearing your feedback and reading your comments makes me get up every day. i love you guys <3

Isak’s breath is trembling on the exhale. Even worse on the inhale. 

“Can we stop talking about this?” He asks from behind his palm. “It’s not something I’m particularly fond of remembering.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Even breathes, uncurling from his edge of the couch to brush his knees against Isak’s. “I didn’t mean to… pry.”

“You’re not, trust me,” Isak scrubs at his eyes uselessly, knowing that there was about zero ways someone as attentive as Even wasn’t gonna notice all the moisture collecting there. “You’re not. Talking about her is like… geeze, it’s like heartburn in all my joints. I don’t know how to describe it. You know those thoughts you have, it doesn’t matter how often you think about them, they’re the _one thing_ that messes you up every single time? That’s Lea for me. Every time.”

“I think half of me just wanted to see if you _could_ talk about it, so I could get a feel for…”

“You’re not as subtle as you think,” Isak lets out a wet laugh, still looking down at his knees. “I know why you asked. Do you want… me to keep going?”

“You just asked if we could stop?” Even raises an eyebrow, stretching his arms out in front of him. They’ve been planted on opposite ends of the sofa for a couple hours now; sunlight long gone and nothing but the soft glow of the island lights in the kitchen illuminating their faces. 

“I’m okay, I think I just… needed a second.” Isak shrugged further into his jacket. He could hear Even nod moreso than he could see it, so. He just. “Her letters were always addressed from weird places? There was some form Hammerfest, some from Stavanger, there were a couple from Bergen, too? There was actually one _from_ Oslo at one point. I asked her about it, but like… she would never answer me. It was weird. But… like, okay, she’d tell me about her life at college and stuff.” Isak furrowed his brow.

“Okay?”

“She had friends she liked to talk about and stuff. Uh– mostly this guy named Veeti and stuff, I think they were an item. She stopped mentioning him at one point and I never… brought it up, in case something happened? But shortly before dad caught us, she mentioned something about them moving in together, and that's why she had a Sola address and stuff then, and like… at one point I actually tried looking her up and things? Maybe like nine weeks after we were caught? And… there was no ‘Valtersen’ in the area, so…”

“Dead end?” Even spoke softly, and, like, as though Isak wasn't close enough to just shutting off. Cool.

“There weren’t… any ‘Veeti’s out there either, which was pretty encouraging. Yeah. I dunno. After that I had zero way of knowing where she was at, but I know she's out there.” He shrugged.

“Has… like, your case worker or anything tried looking for her?”

“Yeah, last Olsen checked she’s still going to Tromsø, but… I dunno. I don't know.”

“You’re…” Even clicked his tongue, gesturing weakly at Isak’s tremoring fingers. “Are you…”

“Talking about this stuff is weird,” Isak shrugged, making eye contact for the first time since they sat down. “I… I dunno.”

“Can I… touch you, or?” Even swallowed. Isak shrugged, nodded minutely. 

“Are you the cuddle-ee or the cuddler?” He said, sitting up a little further on the couch. Isak blinked. 

“The… what?”

“Do you like to lay- _on_ or be _laid_ on?” Even asked lightly, and. Uh. 

“I’ve never, uh.” Isak balked a little as Even scooted back further on the sofa, tucking his knees under himself and extending his arms out to Isak carefully. Isak quirked his brows as he reached back, compl-- _wh--_

Even’s not a _light_ guy, okay, firstly. Secondly, Isak’s not quite sure how hot his face is when Even leans forward to completely encompass his waist in his arms but he’s _guessing_ by the way Even’s fuckinng _giggling_ him that it’s pretty fuckin’ noticeable. Thirdly, holy shit, Even’s so warm? He’s so warm. What.

He’s got Isak slouched back with his shoulders on the arm of the sofa, completely laying down on top of him with his own nose nuzzling down into Isak’s sternum. His arms are folded neatly underneath Isak as well, one leg sort of kicked out and looping underneath Isak’s own calf. His natural reaction-- like, as shameful and as much as he didn’t actually want to, his first thought was to shove Even away and scramble off the couch, but.

Stifling that was a lot easier than he thought it would be, too. Instead, he found it… he found it scarily easy to just wrap his arms overtop Even’s shoulders, the able fingers of his right hand threading themselves through the locks of hair at the nape of his neck. He felt Even exhale deeply against the fabric of his hoodie. 

“This good? You good?” He was mumbling, twisting his neck to speak a little more clearly. 

“I think I’ll die if you move,” Isak murmured as he leaned back a little further. Even let out a breathy little laugh. 

“Then I’m going down with you.”

***

“Remember Noora?” Isak said, not really anticipating a reply, but. Silence fell over the table in a way he couldn’t say he particularly cared for. He glanced up from where his cheek rested on his textbook, finding all six pairs of eyes searching over his own. Cool. Well. “Yeah?”

“What about her?” Sana asked, squinting her eyes a little and-- oh, shit. Well. Not like he meant to bring up a bunch of baggage like that. Hers _or_ his.

“Remember that she lived with those two other people from ‘95?” He quirked a brow as softly as he could. He caught Eva’s expression melt, which. Didn’t help. Like. At all. He didn’t even particularly _want_ to tell them-- was doing it because Petersen recommended he open up to people he cared about. And because the others were noticing he always took different routes now, according to Eva. 

He waited for each of them (Sana, Vilde, Eva, Chris, Magnus and -- Jonas, who was primarily who he was doing this for) to nod individually before swallowing. “So, like… a couple weeks ago, my… _dad_ and I,” he mumbled, pointedly ignoring Jonas’s sharp intake of breath. “We got into a fight, and you guys know how my mom is sick and stuff? It was about that. And I ended up leaving in the middle of the night and stuff.”

“What’s this got to do with Eskild?” Vilde looked at him skeptically as she twirled her pen, and. Maybe Isak’s brain was shorting out or something, sure, but like. It weirdly overwhelmed him again for a moment that saying this would surely get spread around the school before he even finishes the sentence. Well.

“I ran into him. He’s letting me stay at their kollektiv in Noora’s old room.”

“...What?” Jonas was really trying not to look shocked, bless him, but there was very little he could do to mask it in his voice. “Since when?”

“Couple weeks?” Isak shrugged mildly as he sat up properly. “That's sorta why… I haven't been…”

“I thought you were just getting rides because you guys were close?” Jonas asked, and. Suddenly it was like a private conversation. Everything was sort of grey beyond the bemused crow’s feet nestled in the corners of Jonas’s eyes. 

“That's part of it, sure, but the other half is because the apartment is ridiculously far. Even wouldn't let me make that walk even if I wanted to.” He shrugged again. 

“Why didn’t you…” _say anything sooner?_ Isak swallowed. Jonas didn't have to say it. Silends hung between them right then, mostly because Isak _knew_ there was no good answer. Both of them did.

“Ehm,” Vilde coughed, “How… How's Eskild?”

***

“If prompted, would you be able to talk about… say, the role Jonas has played in your recovery?” Petersen asks from her desk, heels propped up on the end as he leans back to look at the ceiling. Isak’s laying on the couch with his bad wrist strewn over the arm above him, blinking tiredly. “Ms. Ahonen communicates with the kids’ therapists about their growth. She says you’ve been having trouble?”

Wait. “...Who?” He squints, turning his head to look over at her. Petersen raises an eyebrow. 

“Bodil Ahonen?”

“Oh,” he settles back again. “I didn’t know her last name. Weird. Anyway, I mean-- I guess I could? It’s just weird talking about my tragic backstory in front of a bunch of people I don’t know, and have literally only ever seen at this group. I don’t even know their names, but I know that the girl who sits directly across from me is a csa survivor. That’s the only thing I know about her. It’s weird having that kind of relationship with people, and I don’t want that to happen to me, so I guess it’s just easier to stay quiet.”

“You need to be able to talk about these things, Isak. You know that.” She sighs as her head lolls back. “And I guess your behaviors are becoming pretty noticeable.”

“What do you want me to say?” He matches her sigh. Petersen shifts some before Isak realizes she’s come to face him properly. 

“I want you to take away from this group what you put into it. If you never go and never speak, it’ll be like it hardly happened-- but there’s something valuable in these resources, Isak. I want you to try and explore them.” She says earnestly, and wow, that’s a pretty good way to make Isak feel fucking horrible. Great.

“I’ve taken a lot from it,” He says (maybe a little bitterly, but whatever). “There’s a-- I’ve told you about Even, I think? He’s… so fucking nice and understanding and careful that sometimes I feel like I don’t need to bleed if I make the decision to touch him. He makes me feel like this shit is just normal, and it’s so comforting that when he _offered me hand sanitizer_ last week I almost passed out on the spot.”

Petersen’s expression was carefully walled up, but. Whatever. Isak wanted to press on. “He’s given me nothing but patience and sure he’s got his own shit to deal with, but he never makes it seem like it’s a separate part of him? Like, he doesn’t have to say he’s having an episode. He’s just… that way, y’know? I don’t know how to describe it. But he makes me feel like all of this is fine. And that has helped me a _lot_ over the past few weeks. I can’t even begin to tell you.”

“You guys have been in contact?” She asked, albeit with some kind of guard still in her expression. Isak nodded, a quirk forming in his brow. “How… much?”

“He mostly lets me be the one to initiate it, so it’s not… often? But that’s not even it-- he just lets me be close to him, like I’ve spent the night in his bed and stuff? And he doesn’t press for anything. He just lets it happen. And he doesn’t make me feel weird for not wanting to be all over him.”

“Is that so?” And-- yeah, now there’s something of a smile there.

“Yeah. It’s really nice. Okay, like -- he did have… something happen a few weeks ago, he seemed like he was on a sugar-high, almost? I think it’s called hypomania. I read a lot about it, but-- anyway, he picked me up a lot and was really keen on cuddling and things, but. Normally, he’s not like that.”

“He has bipolar disorder?” She turned to her computer, typing up as Isak spoke.

“Yeah. And… that’s fine? He’s really serious about taking care of it.” She hummed as he went along. “I mean… he’s fine. He’s fine.”

“And you’re okay with opening up to him?” Petersen tries again, “Or having him open up to you, maybe? That might make it easier on your end.”

“Oh,” Isak almost _laughs,_ “Oh no. I try not to… ask about anything that he doesn’t willingly tell me first.”

Petersen stays silent as she takes this in, examining Isak carefully before she speaks again. 

“Is there… a reason?”

“I just don't like to pry? I mean… he's been pretty forthcoming with stuff when he wants to be already? I know a lot about him. I don't want to make him tell me anything he isn't ready to share– he does that for me, why shouldn't I do that for him?”

“Isak,” Petersen’s weak smile splinters something deep into Isak’s sternum. “Isak, that's exactly what we’re trying to fix. You need to be able to talk to people.”

“I can. I’m totally fine.”

“Isak,” She leaned back in her chair to give the ceiling a glare. “If you _could_ talk to people, we wouldn't be talking about you opening up. You're just – I’m gonna be perfectly blunt, okay? Your inability to talk to the people around you is what wound you up in here. If you could open up and were willing to seek help, court-mandated therapy wouldn't have been in the cards. You… you–”

“I can!” He snaps, then promptly regretting it. “I open up really easily with Even. He's really personable and just treats all this stuff like any other conversation topic– I mean it, stop giving me that look.” He sneers a little at Petersen, whose face doesn't change in the slightest. 

“What have you told him about?” She makes a small gesture with her hands over her desk. “Tell me, Isak.”

“I– about my dad? He knows why I ran away, and about my OCD? He knows I get so riled up with nervous energy that I sometimes run around town at midnight, which not even Jonas knows, thanks. He knows about Lea. He knows about– fuck, he knows about my problems with skin and touching and he's fine with all of it? He's never–”

“Does he know _why?”_ She quirked a brow, and. What?

“What?” He squinted. 

“Does he know _why_ you have problems with touching? Or what caused you to develop anxiety? Does he know what happened with Lea, and why–”

“He knows about Lea,” Isak swallowed harshly. “He knows.”

“Knows… why your father made you stop writing with her?”

Isak… wasn't sure what it was about that that made his jaw slacken, but. Here he was. He guesses his silence was answer enough for the woman, as she clicked her tongue and moved to type something into her computer. “This is what I mean, Isak,” she said lightly. “You can tell people about your life all you want, but you're not really… talking about the deep stuff, the important stuff that you need to heal from.”

“I… don't even like thinking about that stuff in the first place.” He said quietly. “I don't think I could say it out loud if I tried to.”

“So Even’s… has he noticed that you can barely mention her without choking up the way you do?”

“Yeah,” Isak swallowed again. “Yeah, he…”

“Does he know why it makes you react so strongly? Think about it– everyone’s got siblings that don't get along with their parents, that move out because of it.”

“I feel like you're kind of–”

“I’m not minimizing what you went through. I’m only saying… maybe you could talk to him about why.”

“I…” He lingered for a moment, looking down at the hems of his sleeves. The longer it lingered… the more he felt like he was in a swimming pool trying to find a key at the bottom. Everything was too… squirmy and damp. Too deep and clamping to navigate. “I don’t… want to.”

“Why?” She asked quietly, and. Isak didn’t even care if she was trying to make eye contact. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Could it… be because you’ve become accustomed to people getting angry with you whenever you speak too much? Or when you ask too many questions?” She spoke slowly, like she was treading waters she wasn’t sure of -- which, rightfully? Isak knew he didn’t respond well to being told things about himself. Case in point: being diagnosed with C-PTSD. Or… being told he held a skittish demeanor instead of an effortless one. That was a big one.

“...Uh,” He tried lamely. Petersen hummed.

“You often expect people to just get mad at you, Isak. You know that. But… Isak, this Even sounds like he would never do that?” Isak looked up to her, expecting to find a rebuttal at his lips, but. There was nothing forthcoming when he saw her insistent gaze. Fuck. “If he’s anything like the way you’ve made him sound… he won’t get upset with you for opening up. And -- something I’ve noticed with you is that you’re substantially more comfortable around people when you know things about them.”

“I think that applies to people in general?” He quirked a brow. Petersen shrugged considerably.

“It doesn’t mean it’s not observed.”

“So?”

 _”So,_ Isak, I think you should try to learn about him. Learn… like, just general things about him, and maybe you’ll grow into it a little easier. Maybe you can… really establish something with this boy.”

“You’re talking like you think I don’t know anything about him?” He said, and… maybe a little too cautiously relative to what he was going for, but whatever. Petersen shrugged anyway. 

“That’s not necessarily what I meant. Just… let him in, Isak. You don’t have to be so scared of every relationship you make. You can tell me all you want that you’re not afraid of Jonas, that you’re not afraid of Eva. But, not only do your actions say otherwise, trust isn’t always based on whether or not you’re afraid of someone.”

Isak held still. Fuck.

***

_**Mamma** (15:48) For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you! But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins_

***

“How long you been out here?” He heard from the right, making him damn near jolt straight out of the swing. He gasped as his heels dug into the gravel beneath him, scrambling a little to the side and-- fuck, it. It’s just Even, jesus Isak. Cool it.

“I--” He swallowed harshly as he watched the other boy walk under the glow of the streetlight. “Fuck, like… two hours?”

“What?” Even laughed breathlessly. “And you only texted me twenty minutes ago? I could’ve been out here so much sooner.”

“I didn’t wanna wake you up if you were sleeping or something,” Isak mumbled. He looked down at his wrist brace to pull at the fraying threads again. 

“Sleep is the cousin of death,” He whispered jokingly, planting himself in the swing to the right of Isak. Isak looked over to him then, hardly giving himself time to digest the deep, black-ish rings on the skin beneath Even’s eyes -- only really pronounced because his irises were so piercing. Even was slouched and his hair wasn’t -- wasn’t gelled, was sort of swooping over his forehead from underneath the hood pulled over his shoulders. 

“Yeah? You _look_ like death,” Isak’s laugh was-- was nothing short of concerned, but Even just scoffed it off.  
“So I’ve heard,” He joked back. “So… what brings you to Slottsparken on this fine Wednesday evening?”

“My therapist scared the hell out of me, and then my mom texted me, and I’m just… not feelin’ it.” He shrugged as he leaned against the chain. 

“Yeah?” He heard Even shift around on his own swing, making Isak peer back over. He was holding a canister in his hand, pulling out plastic straws from his coat pocket and--

“Did you bring beer, or something?” Isak scoffed, and Even matched him right back with a laugh.

“It’s a strawberry milkshake, asshole,” He smiled as he stuck the straws into the opening. “And you’re gonna share it with me.” He leaned over to hand the canister to Isak, who, uh. Uh. 

“I… don’t…”

“Please,” Even tried, something curving beneath his eyes that made him look a little pleading, and, well. Isak was done for. Whatever. He was always gonna be done for when it came to this boy. He rolled his eyes fondly as he plucked the canister over, taking a long drink (hopefully his only one, hopefully without seven swigs of mouthwash before he went to sleep tonight) before he handed it back over. Even gave him a cheeky smile, and. And that made it worth it. Whatever. Mouthwash be damned.

“You wanna talk about anything?” Even smiled weakly as he took his own drink. Isak shrugged.

“I just… needed the dark, or something. I dunno.”

“Do you want me to go?” Even exhaled slowly and -- what. No?

“Would I have texted you if I didn’t want you here?” He twisted in the swing to face Even properly. Even’s eyes were firmly planted on his shoes. “Even? Look at me.” 

Even’s gaze flitted toward him, body language unchanging as Isak dug his heels in to make sure the swing didn’t twist him away. “You can stay here. I want you here.” 

“I can go.”

“Please don’t.” Isak’s hand moved autonomously of him, pinching at the sleeve of Even’s hoodie. Not unlike the November night around them, the baited silence only grew… damper, honestly. Even’s eyes stayed on Isak’s as his grip lingered. “Don’t.”

Isak didn’t particularly -- he didn’t really know what spurred Even on (or a lost of things the guy had done out of the blue recently) to do it, but he couldn’t particularly bring himself to care as Even picked himself from the swing and took the two steps to--

to use a sleeved palm to cup Isak’s cheek and press his own warm, chapped lips against Isak’s. It didn’t go far beyond that -- it didn’t have to -- but Isak was still left breathless, still left flushed and speechless as Even leaned back to plant another kiss to his nose, cheek -- 

“Even--”

“Isak?” Even asked softly, but he didn’t need to hear the answer before Isak was leaning up to steal another breath from the boy’s lungs. and another. and another. and another. 

And another, before Even was stroking his thumb down Isak’s cheeks and swiftly moving backward to sit back on his own swing.

“Understandable.” Even shrugged. Like. It was nothing. Damn. See, Petersen can get fucked. Even treated this shit like it was replacing lead in his pencil and that was what Isak _needed_ sometimes, alright? He doesn’t need a hundred and one questions about why he always ran off to the park in the middle of the night when he couldn’t stop thinking. He just needed Even like this. 

He just needed Even. 

He just needed Even to be okay. Which. He clearly fucking wasn’t, if his loose appearance was any indication. As much as Isak wanted to say that his hair looked nice like that, all free flowing and soft, it was also… pretty fucking concerning that Even… looked like he hadn’t thought about how he looked at all. 

Whether or not he could approach that with him… would have to wait a little while. Maybe until the weekend, when they’d preemptively said they’d get together to try and watch Chamber of Secrets without one of them falling asleep. Maybe until Even would wake up from the inevitable nap he’d take with Isak around (which he didn’t mind in the slightest, mind you) and then he’d ask. And then he’d make sure. And then he’d… 

He didn’t know. Isak swallowed as something frigid thumbed at his throat. 

They’d barely spoken between then and when Even offered to drive Isak home to get some sleep before school in the morning _(“you’re so close to ruining your 10%, man, I think you should at least try to sleep so you can wake up on time”)._ But they… didn’t really need to, between their milkshake and the creaking of the swings. Between when Isak’s fingers found themselves brave enough to sloppily, lightly thread between Even’s. 

Climbing into the passenger seat, the _very first_ thing Isak noticed -- a little shamefully, a little unregretfully -- was Even’s medtalk sicine organizer sitting in the slot in the center console, the Tuesday patch empty. 

He decided not to ask if Even had started taking his meds again. It was… that was too much for the both of them right now. Maybe on Saturday. 

He’d ask on Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna have a lot of time on Saturday to fix up the next chapter, **so... hopefully Sunday?** it can happen. 
> 
> p.s. spencer -- at the time of posting this... 173 hours. ohhh my god we're gonna do it man i'm fucking dying  
> p.s. penpal -- please feel better <3 thank you for making me smile everyday c;


	14. XIV (lacuna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **hey please read this:** there's some _really fucking heavy_ stuff in this chapter. i'm putting the trigger warnings in the end notes. if you're super concerned about how you'll handle it, i really encourage you to check them out. however, please be aware that... reading them _will_ spoil basically the entire chapter contents. 
> 
> there's a playlist in this one that i'm a little worried will get missed -- it's probably my favorite one i've made for this fic, i really encourage you to check it out: [it's called _rubatosis_](https://open.spotify.com/user/xxlevibech/playlist/0efecWebvR2Qc1FtUzACL0) and if you wanna set the mood for this chapter, just listen to the last five songs on repeat. ;)
> 
> anyway. here's some public shout-outs to luna and spencer who... both separately and together make it a whole lot easier for me to get up and make good decisions. y'all are my starlight and sunlight (respectively c; ).

_**Even** (01:49) hey would you be okay if i wasn’t around anymore_

***

Isak’s got thirteen notifications on his phone and exactly zero will to live when his alarm goes off. He groans a little obscenely as he swats it off the nightstand, which -- he isn’t sure why he thought worn carpeting would muffle the ringing in the first place, but whatever. His thumb hits the snooze button like it’s a fuckin’ single push to end world hunger before he’s landing face-down in his pillow again.

Nine minutes later, he wakes to it again and _honestly?_ just pulls his phone under the duvet with him and silently wills the bell to cool it. But. It definitely doesn’t, which is nice.

Nice because it allows him to actually see and register all the notifications. That is literally it. Everything else fuck off, because there’s no way in hell he’s getting up right now to go to school.

It’s Instagram before Facebook, and he doesn’t… actually see the text message until his clock reads 06:13. 

Which is promptly when his heart falls through his feet -- like when you’re on a roller coaster, or when the parachute doesn’t open, Isak’s jumping up the same way to dial Even’s phone number two, three, four times, and. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t fucking answer. 

There’s really no questioning why his heart rate has skyrocketed to the point that everything gets a little blurry, but that does nothing to help him calm down? Exactly nothing. He’s flinging himself from his mattress and pulling a hoodie that was settled on the floor next to his desk over his shoulders (it’s Even’s, he can tell by the smell, and three things happen amidst the sheer terror making his face flush: this sweatshirt is dirty, but it’s Even’s and that’s why he hasn’t washed it -- and nothing about Even’s scent is helping him calm down, unlike any other given time he’s come into contact with it) and a beanie over his ears before he’s sprinting down the hallway. 

His phone is still cradled against his ear as he tugs shoes over his feet, and he tries _really fucking hard_ to trust that Even’s just -- he’s just driving to school, or he doesn’t hear his phone. 

But yeah, there’s a pit in his stomach unlike -- well, actually, if he’s honest? He’s had this feeling before. Two other times. And he’d been making an _active_ effort to make sure it didn’t happen again, but here he was, taking the steps down three at a time from the kollektivet. 

Eight minutes have passed by the time he gets out the front of the complex, alongside thirteen calls to Even. And. Wow. This feels fucking horrible. He can really only equate it to the time he’d -- okay, fuck, actually? No part of him wants to remember that shit, but here it is. Spilling into his frontal lobe like it’s being fucking milked from the disgusting fucking udders of a cow named Trauma and -- wait, Isak, what the fuck. What. What. Even was that. A cow. OK. 

He rolls his eyes at himself as he jogs up the street (he’s never -- he’s not like _that_ athletic, okay, if he goes any faster for any longer it’s game over) but nonetheless -- he feels like he swallowed something whole as a lump forms in his throat when an image of his sister with a black eye glimpses on the inside of his eyes. It thickens when it’s replaced with the horribly hidden shock on Jonas’s mouth when he asks him for butterfly closures -- and again when Petersen’s fingers still over her keyboard as Isak mutters something about how frustrated he was when he woke up after taking ⅔’s of a bottle of his sleeping pills. 

Now it’s slipping up like nausea as the image of Even’s lifeless body flashes in his mind. 

Isak’s skipped taking the tram because he just -- doesn’t have fucking time for that, okay? He doesn’t. Rounding the twelve minute walk to Even’s house seems way more efficient, and he’s totally proven right when the creamy complexion of the siding seems way too bright in comparison to to the pitch dark of November around him. 

The alleyway separating Even’s neighborhood from the one behind it leads straight to his back door, perpetually unlocked because, according to Even _“there’s nine of us, someone’s gonna forget their keys.”_ Which, true to his word: Isak has no problem pushing past the door to the laundry room, closing it gently behind him and -- yeah, alright, time to find Even.

He doesn’t.

Even’s bedroom is set apart from the rest of the house, to some degree - he’s got the first floor to himself, the rest of the household pushed upstairs. According to himself, he’s got virtually no business being on the second floor unless he’s with Kjell or asking a favor of someone who lives up there -- and he’s perfectly content to stay in his first floor loft bed and personal bathroom, where the kitchen’s six steps out the door and so is the laundry room. So when Isak pushes open his bedroom door to see his boyfriend’s backpack and jacket vacant from the place they usually take up in his desk chair, he breathes a sigh of relief.

His heart rate doesn’t particularly slow, but… anxiety is good at what it does. So he leans against the doorframe for a moment to try and just… accept the fact that Even _may_ have had a breakdown last night. Proceeded to leave Isak in the dark. And just went to school. It’s plausible -- he just… wishes he could have been there.

Isak swallows down whatever simmering was rising in the pit of his collarbones as he steps back out the back door, texting Even a quick _hey, are you okay? at school?_ before traipsing back down the alleyway. Even’s fine. Even really is fine. 

The bad news is that incident sucked up virtually _all_ of the emotional energy Isak h-- fuck, wh--

His phone jumps from his hand as something abhorrent runs straight up and down his spine, reinvigorates any nausea that dissipated before. He didn’t fucking. Brush his teeth. His clothes are dirty -- and the pads of his fingers are -- fucking _grimy_ kind of? And it nearly makes him black out, honestly, the kind of cold sweat breaking out on the nape of his neck he hasn’t felt since -- well, since he outed himself in a panicked stupor, but whatever, this is just as justified. 

He swallows roughly and peeks back into the house to -- like, okay, there’s exactly zero ways Even is gonna mind if he pulls a clean shirt from his drawers. And maybe uses one of the spare toothbrushes. Also scrubs down his face and his hands in the bathroom sink until his cuticles are patchy and bloody. 

Whatever. He slips back out of the house in less than 21 minutes -- he’d know, he looked at the clock, bye,,, -- and sprints to Nissen like his life depends on it (very pointedly decides that he’s not going to feel bad for running faster to Nissen than he did to check on his boyfriend, all right, he… he needed to reserve that energy for this run) with the long sleeves of his (Even’s) maroon hoodie fisted in his palms. His left hand, like, it’s not the kind of functional that lets him pick up his backpack or comb his hair, but he can move his fingers a little bit and it’s fucking _December,_ alright, he’s covering his hands.

The worst fucking thing is that Even, the asshole, _still won’t_ answer his phone by the time Isak rounds into the courtyard. A brief scan of the parking lot sent another fresh surge of panic down his solar plexus, because, uh, where the fuck is Even’s Solara? It’s not like the parking lot’s _big,_ he can’t exactly hide it, so, um. What the fuck.

If Even wasn’t home, he would most certainly fucking be at Nissen by now. And he would have most certainly answered his phone. What the fuck. 

Isak’s mind takes two forks in the road, deciding that Even is either dead or hates him. He’s not sure which is worse. 

He picks up his phone to send the guy a string of messages, deciding to say that _look, it’s okay if you don’t want me around anymore, i get it, i don’t really want me around either, but… can you at least let me know if you’re fucking okay?_

And by the time he bypasses Jonas’s mildly shocked expression and Eva’s choked questions about whether or not Isak’s okay (does he even look that bad?) he still hasn’t gotten any word. There’s still fucking nothing and Isak feels like his spinal fluid is about to come out of his ears.

He’s nauseous like he hasn’t been since -- jesus christ, why his mind picks _this morning_ to rediscover all his trauma he’ll never know, but he hasn’t really felt this sick to his stomach since his dad found Lea’s letter before he did? He can’t remember it feeling this bad, but it’s also the first thing that comes to mind as he plants himself in Norwegian. For some reason.

Actually, uh. Scratch what he said before. _This_ is the worst thing -- the fucking fact that he decided to _go to his fucking classes_ while he’s mid-panic attack because his dumb ass boyfriend (if he still wants to _be_ Isak’s boyfriend, some horrible niggling corner of his mind decides to remind him) won’t fucking text him back following what Isak can only assume was a breakdown. And now it’s all Isak can do to assume Even’s not fucking bleeding out somewhere or something. Fuck. _Fuck._

He doesn’t get a single thing done, just picks at the scabs at the corners of his fingertips where they turn into velour flesh like something off a Drag Race episode and frantically checks his messages every few seconds to just _see_ if--

Of course, the answer remains a solid no, but like. Fuck. Isak just wants to fucking hear from him.

But even as he passes Even’s second class and sees it vacant of him, even as he tucks his face into his elbows as biology begins and honestly, just. Tries not to start fucking crying out of sheer, tangible anguish over this morning. Isak can’t _physically_ remember a time when he felt so defeated and just…

He just fucking wants Even at this point. Just to know he’s there. 

It also hits him in that moment that he’s probably way more dependent on Even than he let himself recognize. To the point that a single ominous message has him ready to literally sink into the floor with worry… or the fact that entertaining the thought of being unable to see him again had him shaking and tearing up in the courtyard. What.

He’s not… _upset_ that he cares about Even this much. He likes being this close with someone, likes being this close with _Even_ particularly, but… fuck, Isak really loves talking to him. Probably… probably just really loves _him._

“Isak?” He hears, jolting him out of his stupor and damn near knocking him off his stool as well. Sana’s lurking over him with the kind of concern in her eyes that makes Isak’s stomach drop out his feet. “Are you…”

“I…” He swallows, and just like that, his eyes are filling with tears. “I can’t find Even, and he’s scaring me, and I’m not sure why he won’t answer--”

“Slow your roll,” Sana says, dropping her bag to the floor and sitting beside him. “Um, firstly, where’s your brace? And secondly, when’s the last time you heard from him?”

And… heaven knows how Isak kept his voice level as he replied, “I don’t want it. And… he sent me this-- fuck,” He wipes a rogue tear. “I don’t know where he is, he’s not home and he won’t answer the fucking phone but he sent me this weird ass message at like one at night,” He pulls his phone from his pocket to show her.

Sana visibly swallows as she leans away from his phone, something dryer in her eyes than he’d ever seen before. She studies him for longer than he could be comfortable with if he wanted to, but most of his energy in the moment was fuelled into not _fucking_ crying again. “Sana, what…?”

“You check his house?” She asks sharply. She stands from her seat curtly and picks her bag from the floor, jerking her head towards the door. “C’mon. You see his car here?” Isak shakes his head no twice, following her long strides out of the classroom. They take the long way around to the entrance that comes in directly from the lot, where Sana shoulders open the door for the both of them. “What about his mom? Have you called his mom?”

“Sana, what are you--” She turns on her heel.

“When’s the last time you two talked?”

“Last night?” He tries weakly. She nods slowly, like she’s considering something as she glances around the parking lot to come to the same conclusion as Isak -- he’s not fucking here. “We… we hung out at Slottsparken and talked a little bit before he drove me home. He looked a little off, but I didn’t want to pry and make him tell me something he--”

“It’s okay, Isak. I’m gonna call my mom and then we’re gonna go to Even’s, yeah?” She doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer before she’s pulling her own phone to her ear and turning away from him, which. Which. Why. Is she doing this. Not that Isak particularly minds right now -- on some level he knows he shouldn’t be alone when he’s like this -- but… something about Sana is suspiciously invested. He doesn’t have time to consider it before her tone is bringing him back to their patch on the cement. “Isak, c’mon. Can I ask you a couple things as we go?”

It’s in that nineteen minutes that Sana’s a grounding force Isak never knew he needed; her voice slow and steady relative to the hustle they’re taking through the streets, easy to follow and somehow gentle when she has every reason to be irritated with him right now. She asks about Even’s behavior recently and Isak’s head is too far under to consider being dishonest, let alone question what she’s thinking. He just can’t. No part of him can think of it. 

“Have you ever… mentioned it to his mom or anything? Have you told anyone that you’re worried about him?” She wrinkles her brow as they round the front-facing street of his neighborhood. Isak shakes his head minutely, a little breathless as he replies.

“No, he-- he told me he’d been dealing with it for years, it just seemed like something he knew how to handle? He’s said that, too, he’s _told me_ he’s good at dealing with it. I just… I never had any reason to believe he’d _do something,_ y’know? And then he sends that text and…” He shrugs helplessly. Sana’s nodding along patiently as he babbles.

“You were here this morning?” She looks over his shoulder at him as they pace the driveway. 

“Yeah, they keep the back door unlocked.” 

“They have a key under the flower pot, we’ll-- wait, is...that’s his car?” She stops dead in her tracks, forcing Isak to crash a little harshly into her shoulder. She barely moves in her own stupor. Two things make Isak’s blood run cold: how does she know about the key? And, yeah, that’s definitely Even’s fucking Solara at the top of the driveway. What… what the fuck? Was that here this morning too?

Two more things happen: not unlike a punch to the trachea, Isak’s having too many problems breathing properly to stay upright. The other thing is that his hands clench in on themselves tight enough for him to feel his wrist pop wickedly, feel the scabs at the bases of his fingers rip like leather. It’s almost enough to knock him off his feet, enough to make his knees give out because-- 

if Even’s in that fucking house, and Isak didn’t fucking see him?

“Isak?” Sana’s whispering then, clutching his shoulder because she doesn’t know much better. She shakes him enough to free the moisture in his eyes. “Isak, c’mon, we have to go inside.”

“What if he’s…” Isak trails off like there’s not enough air left to take in. Sana shakes her head.

“He’s okay, I promise. I promise. He probably just came home. We have to go check, though, okay? We have to go look for him. Can you walk with me? We can go slow…” She curls ginger fingers around her bicep to tug him up the front steps, and for a second, Isak sees something in her eye too damp to be anything but -- 

“How’d you know there’s a key?” He asks weakly, unable to care about the break in his voice. She hardly spares him a glance as she replaces the planter. 

“My… my hijab lets me see the future,” She replies lamely, quietly, and Isak is taken aback. What. “C’mon. C’mon. Can you check upstairs for me?”

Her hijab… lets her see the future. Isak registers it as an excuse, as a white lie she spews for no reason here, but he can’t seem to keep a breath in long enough to want to call her out on it. Instead, he follows her words: shuts the door behind himself quietly, paces through the foyer and eyes the staircase warily. His stomach drops again as he sees Even’s bathroom door cracked open exactly the way he left it, bedroom door bleak adjacent to it. He kind of wants to throw up as he puts his foot down on the first step.

Shame is hot and churning in his guts. If Even’s in this fucking house, Isak has no idea what the fuck he’s gonna do. He was _here_ two hours ago. He was fucking _here._

The blood in his ears overwhelms the sounds of his footsteps as he traipses upwards and yep, this is it, Isak’s about ninety percent sure he’s gonna pass out upon seeing light from beneath the bathroom door. 

There’s something eerily mechanical about the way this feels -- like some sort of horrible first-person POV video game, nothing but a joystick making his legs tread across carpeting. He doesn’t remember walking up the stairs anymore, has no idea how he’s standing in front of the bathroom door with his bare left hand covering the brass knob. He knows his jaw is slack, knows his shoulders are somewhere ugly between taut and sagging as he eyes it. It’s locked. 

There’s something… eerily mechanical about the way this feels -- his index and thumb flaring in pain as he twists the handle uselessly. He leans his forehead against the door because honestly, what the fuck else is he meant to do here. There’s exactly one fucking possibility about what’s on the other side of this door. Isak’s never been so willing to black out. But something keeps -- keeps scratching in the corner of his mind that he needs to see this. Needs that answer. He needs it.

And maybe that’s what makes his right hand join the left and shaking the door handle with the kind of force he had no idea how he mustered in the moment, but it… it fucking works. 

Isak’s read about how the human brain is somewhere between 170 and 230 milliseconds to react to any given stimuli -- he feels somewhere around 1200 when the door creaks open. It’s a haunting noise that sends a frigid cold up his spine because--

Because this is kind of it?

The weight in his chest curling up into his throat doesn’t do anything to his breathing patterns, doesn’t help him in any way as he watches the damn door gently inch open. His eyes trace the lines in the linoleum as it slowly appears before him. And then the door recoils against the weight of something Isak’s can't exactly--

Why the fuck is he in slow motion. Why the fuck can’t he move. 

It jerks him forward like a hand between his shoulder blades, the sickening taste of copper filling his mouth as he stumbles forward awkwardly, hand caught on the door for support because he -- did he… just fucking trip on something? Did that just--

It’s a prescription bottle. Isak’s pretty sure his heart just straight up stops beating when he glances away from it in horror to find another one against the cabinets beneath the sink. He bends over to grab it for reasons he can’t particularly explain, and. Yeah. _Bech Næsheim, Even_ the peeling label reads. Zolpidem. 5 miligrams. The bottle’s empty. 

It’s empty. Isak blows out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he looks up into the mirror and -- he’s a fucking mess. His hair is so tousled he may as well have not washed it for the past week, hoodie wrinkled and disorderly over his shoulders. His eyes are sunken and sanguine from unshed tears, lips chapped and flaking and his fucking _hand,_ holy shit -- it makes him drop the bottle into the sink.

His knuckles are borderline… fucking velvety? Fleshy and shiny like he’s never seen before, alongside the meat of his palm and his fingertips. He… He knew he had a problem with picking at his skin, but this fucking _badly?_ It never even _registered?_ He holds it up to the mirror in disgust, twisting over his left wrist to eye all the green-blue bruising that makes him look like a fucking Balhoonian or something. He grimaces as he rolls it over, when in the reflection, something just above his wrist catches his eye and -- and then there’s cold everywhere, in the bottom of his toes and the back of his neck.

Isak swallows so hard he’s surprised all the muscles in his throat didn’t go down with it -- because. He lowers his hand (which is then trembling like a leaf) to -- 

Even’s sitting in the bathtub, completely dry and fully clothed. He’s wearing Isak’s _rascals_ hoodie pulled over his hair, slumped back and head lolled over like’s been there since --

Last night. Isak can physically feel the blood drain from his limbs, from his cheeks as he kneels down beside Even to see him a little better. The guy’s knees are tucked loosely against his chest (with legs like that there’s no way he could stretch out in the first place), headphones tucked into his ears as [something from Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/xxlevibech/playlist/0efecWebvR2Qc1FtUzACL0) gently streams through and Isak fucking _hates_ himself for wondering if Even can even hear it. He really does. He also, upon jostling Even a little, sees his phone light up with a ridiculous number of notifications from Isak himself and -- and he pointedly ignores all the heart emojis surrounding his name. 

“Even?” He mumbles unwittingly, pushing at one of Even’s shoulders and fitting his fingers beneath his chin. “Even… wake up, c’mon. You gotta wake up.” No response makes Isak’s vision a little blurry, and, y’know, those aren’t fucking tears. He’s not fucking crying. But he still pulls Even up by his armpits, readjusting him so that he’s lying out against the cool texture of the linoleum. “Even…”

A weird noise racks itself out of Isak when he cups Even’s cheeks to find them cold, to find his lips tinted white and eyes ashen. He lays Even flat on his back as something kind of -- kind of warm spreads over his own face as he reaches for Even’s hand. “Babe, c’mon,” He tries, but.

The sheer cold in Even’s fingertips solidifies something for Isak that has him reeling suddenly, his vision completely clouded over by tears as he pulls Even’s wrist to his lips. “Babe, Even, you gotta…” 

It’s kind of perfect for a second, because Even looks so fucking peaceful that Isak really is deceived for a second into thinking Even’s just… he’s just asleep. And then he remembers the bottle of sleeping pills. And the -- the mere thought that Even took the entire fucking bottle, and --

“Even,” He hisses, squeezing his hand as hard as he can and leaning over him properly. “Even, oh, fuck--”

“Isak?” He snaps his head to the right to see Sana horrified, and that’s when it breaks. He lets out that noise again, now something Sana clearly reacts to as a sob as she rushes over to the other side of Even. “Have you checked his pulse? Holy-- Even, Even,” she reaches up to his cheeks to start patting them, each little slap doing nothing but bringing the color back. “Okay, there’s-- Isak, his pulse, c’mon.”

As instructed, he thumbs around on Even’s wrist to find something -- and, it.

Something clicks in his brain for maybe the fourth time in the last three minutes as he shoves Sana’s hands away and starts mumbling something about calling for an ambulance. She’s frozen for a moment before she leans back on her heels to do just that, and, like, sure, Isak can feel her eyes burning into him as he feels around on Even’s chest for the dip in his sternum before he’s straightening his elbows back.

When Isak was -- shit, maybe seven? He and Lea had eaten dinner in her room when she randomly began pulling old stuffed animals from beneath her mattress and putting their food aside. She’d started talking, saying _hey, Isak, can I show you something?_ and -- and he learned CPR that night. She’d said it was an essential skill, said it was important for him to know in case anything happened to her, or mom, or something. She’d shown him every step until she, a meek thirteen year old, was confident he’d had it down. And he’d had it down.

He -- maybe, maybe he’s a little out of practice, isn’t quite sure how hard to press, but he knows the basics. Compression, airway, breathing. 100 to 120 compressions a minute. Shoulders above your palms, use your upper body weight to push between 2 and 2.4 centimeters down. It can break ribs. It will probably break ribs. 

He can sort of hear Sana beyond his own harsh breathing, his own counts on the exhale, can hear her saying something about an overdose, about bipolar depression, about where they’re at and who Even is -- and she -- she says a quick _”no, but he knows CPR, apparently”_ and then Isak’s officially done listening. Or… trying to listen. Even’s not fucking dying right now. He’s fucking not -- it doesn’t matter to Isak if he’s literally crying his eyes out as he’s doing this, if he can’t stop shaking or sniffling because Even’s fucking dead. Even’s not dead. Even’s fucking dead.

He quits after maybe forty compressions, trying to rack his brain for how to tilt Even’s head back before he just -- he just sort of goes for it. He knows the basics. They’re called rescue breaths. He holds Even’s chin as their mouths press together in a way Isak can’t say he ever particularly imagined, but -- but Even’s chest fucking rises. Isak wants to start crying all over again. So he gives the second breath before leaning back and starting over with compressions. 

Sana’s shoving him off for whatever reason, saying that the operator’s telling him to quit, and honestly there’s… there’s no fight left in him to be able to argue. He falls back against the cabinets with Even’s limp wrist in his lap, and, and. 

And Isak’s suddenly weirded out by the fact that he’s not sure the last time he saw Even’s arms. Half of it is then because he wants to check for a pulse again. Half of it’s because--

Because he’s right. Because he’s right. 

They’re not deep -- they’re fresh, they’re smudged and flaky in all the wrong places and jagged like Even wasn’t sure how hard to press. He didn’t bleed out, not by a long shot, but as Isak rolls up his boyfriend’s sleeve… the more each breath feels like a weight, feels like someone is stomping the air out of his lungs because how the _fuck_ didn’t he know things were this bad?

How didn’t he fucking know? He didn’t he notice -- how didn’t he look at Even for long enough to notice he wasn’t reaching out because Even doesn’t hardly talk about his problems in the first place, the only way he ever did was when prompted. At group. When Isak mentioned something. When Jo was mentioned. But never on his fucking own -- so why did Isak think this would be any different? Why did Isak think Even would say anything?

Because he said something about quitting his meds? Is that the entire reason Isak thought -- 

He’s too disgusted with himself, too mad at himself for not pushing Even to talk about things that he hardly notices when the emergency responders are suddenly crowding the bathroom. He clings to Even’s wrist like it’ll single-handedly bring him back. Like Isak’s touch alone will save him when it _apparently_ did the exact fucking opposite. He looks down again then, looks at the way his fingers are leaving white indentations against Even’s ashen complexion. Looks at the way his shiny, fleshy knuckles look like cherry wine against the greyed out patches in Even’s own. Looks at all the grime caked where his cuticles should be, looks at how neatly manicured Even’s own fingertips are.

Isak doesn’t want to let go.

It’s not -- he doesn’t register how massive that is, how massive anything he’s done in the last ten minutes was for himself until they’re pulling Even’s fingers from his own. That Isak doesn’t want to stop touching Even. He starts crying when they move him aside, sort of slide him backwards against the floor as they lay Even out properly and cut his (Isak’s) hoodie to get at his bare chest. 

Sana’s sitting next to him, trying to mumble something in his ear but -- but Isak can’t fucking hear it. Can’t register anything that isn’t the sharp ringing in his ears. Can’t register anything that isn’t the hazy vision of four people in blue suits surrounding his boyfriend’s limp body. They lift him up like he’s nothing. They carry him down the stairs like he’s _nothing,_ like Even doesn’t fucking matter -- like they don’t fucking know they’ve got Isak’s entire world on their gurney. Like it doesn’t even matter that the sun, moon, and every star Isak’s ever seen is being swept out his front door and into the back of an ambulance they won’t let him follow in because he’s -- he’s not fucking related to Even, or something stupid. 

The last thing he sees is a _heart rate monitor_ being attached to Even’s ashen finger before the doors shut and his vision goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warnings: attempted suicide via overdose, depictions of panic attacks, depictions of self harm/aftermath of self harm, syncope, delirium.** phew. my chest hurts just reading that list. 
> 
>  
> 
> _*patrick stump voice* sometimes before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger..._
> 
>  
> 
> alternatively: please don't hate me. **next one Thursday!** stick around. this is not the end. ;)


	15. XV (it's as cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it is i  
> i'm really srry u guys last week was hella overwhelming and like... Thursday rolled around and i Couldn't Do Anything  
> i'm still kinda in that mode for some reason but i'm tryna get Back On Track

_Kjære Isak,_

_i had a nightmare last night. it was so strange, i don’t get those very often, much less remembering them. i debated whether or not i should tell you because i was afraid you might remember it too… but now i have to know._

_in my bedroom, i had a swivel chair at my desk that we would push each other around the house in. it was black and torn up on the edges. you and i were sitting in my room with our dinners and i was sitting in the chair while you were on my bed, and i don’t know what we were talking about. but it was a really nice conversation. we were laughing and i think at one point i almost choked from it._

_we were there for… a really long time, Isak. past dinner time, past homework, past bedtime. it was really nice to see you like that, and right now i’m thinking about how i don’t know what you look like anymore, if your cupid’s bow ever straightened out or how tall you are. but anyways. it was a thursday, i remember because we heard dad’s feet somewhere in the house and you started worrying he’d come down here and see you in my room, or that we were still awake with the lights on. if you walked on the hardwood between our bedrooms, he’d hear you… things like that._

_i remember giving you a pair of my socks and i said that i’d push you across the floor so it didn’t make any noise. our rooms were right across from each other… it wasn’t hard, and we did it pretty easily. we both turned out our lights as we got ready for bed and kept the doors open like we always did. we always did._

_mom came down to say goodnight to us and saw that we were still awake, i think it was around 23? and she started yelling at us for being irresponsible. it would have been okay. we could handle her yelling, sometime it would make you cry, but we got through it. what we didn’t get through was dad coming down stairs and screaming at her for waking him up, but… you and i knew he wasn’t asleep. i think mom knew too. but she was so scared._

_we watched… our mom get beat that night. dad used the side of his fist to knock her to the floor. i don’t know if that’s something you remember too._

_that’s not the only reason i wrote this letter. i just wanted to see if that was something i made up. anyway, i wanted to let you know i’m transferring from Tromsø. things aren’t working here for me… everything seems like a dead end and i’m really tired of feeling that way -- but my friend Veeti made the decision earlier this year to go down to Stavanger, and i think it’s in my best interest to follow him. not because i like him (even though i do), but because… i need this too. he and i will be living together, so this is the last letter you’ll get from here. we’re moving to Sola._

_i think i’m going to study social work and welfare down there so that i can help out kids like you and i. the ones that can’t be helped on the surface level. things like that. maybe if i get my degree soon enough, i’ll be able to help you._

_Veeti was reading to me the other day. he’s studying English literature, and right now they’re in a unit about novelists from the 19th century. it’s really nice to hear him read. he was reading something the other day where the author was saying how a childhood without dandelions was ineffective, or something, and you know how those classes work. they make you dissect every word of every line until you can pull some greater meaning from it._

_Veeti started looking into dandelion symbolism. did you know that dandelions are symbols of family and courage? anyway, i’ve attached a couple of pressed ones to the back of this note._

_i know your 13th birthday is just around the corner. maybe i’ll be able to send you a little package instead of an envelope._

_i miss you, isak. write soon._

_-Lea_

Taped to the back of her letter were two, _two,_ ruffled dandelions, just as she detailed. Still taped. From four and a half years ago. This was one of the few letters Isak… let himself keep. There were twelve others in his stack.

Isak knew exactly what Lea was talking about. It wasn’t just her memory. Was he ever about to tell her? No. Was he ever going to mention that the thought of getting out of bed the day after that was so nauseating that he stayed home? No. Was he ever going to mention that Isak saw his mother examining the bruises on her ribs in the mirror? No.

Isak gently released the tape from the back of the notebook paper and put the dandelions inside the front cover of a book that was then quickly placed in a plastic bag, alongside a maroon hoodie and -- and a couple other things Isak would start crying over if he looked at for too long.

When he'd been dropped off following the... the _thing,_ he immediately bursted into tears and scared the living daylights out of Eskild. Who. Yeah. Didn't know a fucking thing. All Isak could really gather to tell him was that Even hurt himself, which... which was enough for Eskild, who promptly gathered him up in his arms and refused to let him be alone until he fell asleep. They watched easy movies in the living room and -- and Eskild's a good fucking guy, is what he is. No part of that is up for debate. For as much as he prodded and coddled that afternoon, for as much as Isak groaned about it and just said he wanted to be alone, that he was sorry for ruining Eskild's day and didn't want for him to have to take care of Isak -- he just fucking sat there with his sherpa blankets and hot cocoa and made Isak cool off with him. 

When Isak _did_ fall asleep... Eskild let him stay asleep. Let him sleep everything off and didn't bother to get him up the next morning. Or the next. Just... just checked on him to make sure he was eating. Let him sleep. Let him sleep. Let him sleep. 

The fucking guilt, to this meager Sunday night, was still making Isak's stomach feel rocky. He could feel it in his eyes, in his toes, he just -- this was his fucking fault and there was no other way to say it. He couldn't stop thinking about it long enough to keep himself from getting nauseous and start tearing up as he brushed his teeth. He couldn't distract himself from it long enough to recognize that the garnet patches of flesh on his palm, on his knuckles wasn't healing for some reason. Maybe because he kept picking at it, maybe because he kept rubbing it raw inside his sleeves, maybe because he wasn't _eating_ or-- or. Anything. His throat was raw and his hands just -- they fucking hurt. His wrist most certainly hasn't healed right, can't roll it out without a sharpshooting pain flying up his forearm. 

Even made him more poetic -- he knew it because he definitely wouldn't have been thinking _that's a pretty good simile for my mental state... if i try to use it, it fucking hurts, much like my fucking busted hand._

He had opened Lea's letters with the intent of getting those dandelions to put into the bag (something he'd put together for Even's mom should someone come looking for his things), but after reading what she'd written about his own mother, he just. Everything felt deflated again. It just about made his knees give out. All he had the energy to do was cry and sleep. And he fucking knew it. 

***

Even has this, uh. It’s a grey hoodie he doesn’t wear that often because, in his own words, he _“barely ever has the problem of clothes being too big.”_ It makes him uncomfortable. It’s also the softest fucking hoodie Isak’s ever thrown over his shoulders. And this is the one thing he's gonna let himself keep if worse comes to worst. So. If anyone should ask why the arms of Isak’s hoodie goes well past his palms...

He wears it to school on Monday because it smells like Even, one, and two, it’s so comfortable he could probably fall asleep in it. He’s not too keen on taking it off. Fight him. 

Also. It’s kind of nice having to roll the sleeves up to get into his locker. 

Which is what was happening when he hears a discontented _hey_ to his right. He pulls out an earphone to give Jonas a side-glance in acknowledgement, opting to nod at him in greeting like exactly zero things happened over the weekend. Which. If he could get to Sana before anyone else did, was how it was gonna fucking stay. He doesn’t need everyone else on his back about this, too, doesn’t fucking wanna hear people say it wasn’t his fault. Doesn’t wanna hear people say there was nothing he could have done. Doesn’t have the time or patience for it. He particularly doesn’t want anyone to ask him if he’s fucking _okay_ again. He’s had _enough_ of that from Eskild and -- and while he doesn’t particularly mind it from the guy, anyone else who tries to do it is going to get an earful of something they don’t deserve, so. Yeah. Isak’s keeping this one to himself.

“What’s up, man? I feel like it’s been a while,” Jonas tries for something winsome, and, like. It probably would have worked if Isak’s thoughts didn’t immediately make his mouth go,

“Yeah, no fucking kidding.”

Jonas looks a little taken aback, and, like. Isak can’t really blame him for that one.

“How’re you doing?” He asks as he opens his own locker. Cool. This is great. A little part of Isak wants to be honest and just sort of say that he’s pretty sure he’s been dead since Friday. The other 88% of him is just… pissed off. So. Isak offers him a lackluster thumbs up before turning back into his locker to pull out a textbook that… is probably lost to the void in this thing, honestly. Geeze. Jonas sighs again like this conversation is somehow more taxing than just fucking leaving him alone. “Can I ask you something?”

 _No._ “Sure, what’s up?”

“Eh,” Jonas furrows his brow for a second, and Isak swears to all _fuck_ if he says _anything_ about-- “Why… didn’t you say anything about leaving home? Like, what… happened?”

Oh. 

Oh _jesus._

“What?” Isak kind of… wants to laugh, and it probably slipped out a little bit, if Jonas's expression was anything to go by. “For real?”

“Uh, yeah?” Jonas furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean, man? You told Eva and I just the other week that you'd tell us when shit happened, and then you decide to spring that on us out of nowhere _way_ after the fact? The fuck’s that about?”

“Fuck,” Isak swallows, peeling his lips back in a grimace as he shuts his locker. “Jonas, I… I get why you're upset man, I really do, but I can't have this conversation.” _Because quite frankly, there's too much other shit going on for me to focus on anything,_ is what he leaves out.

Jonas tilts his head back and glances at the ceiling for a moment before reeling in again. He gives Isak something firm, something earnest in his expression that makes something sink in the other boy’s stomach.

“Dude…” Jonas sighs. “You can't keep running away from this kind of stuff. You have to talk about what’s going on with you, and because I know damn well you're not telling anyone else, I _need_ you to tell me. On top of that, does your case worker know? Do your parents even – what if they're fucking following you, man? Are you just gonna try to slide this one under the rug too?”

“Stop,” Isak breathes, something sullen making him feel congested. “Just… Don’t.”

“Don't _what?_ We need to figure this–”

“You don't understand?” _Because I fucking tell Even everything, he knows everything. I have this figured out. I can't do this right now. I can't do this right now._

“Isak, I don't need to understand.” _What the fuck?_ “I need you to make good fucking choices, and I can't really say that I think you have!” 

“Don't yell,” He tries, but – it doesn't fucking matter at that point, he can already feel himself growing grey at the edges. This is too fucking much. It's not like he hasn't wanted to say anything to Jonas – why would he have mentioned it if he didn't want him to know? But –

But everything is already too fucking much, Isak doesn't need his best friend yelling at him on top of it. Or ever, really. 

“Isak?” He hears, and that's when it registers that he's sitting down for some reason. “Hey – Isak, can you hear me?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but. It wouldn't be the first time he couldn't make himself say anything. 

Isak's least favorite color is white. It's not a bad color, it can… it can be pretty soothing sometimes. But Isak has too many memories and just – it makes him smell latex, makes him smell something like oil and like there’s needles in and outside his arms and –

Well, okay, there actually is one this time.

***

“Jesus,” He groans as he leans back. Eskild raises a brow. “I… fuck. I just wanna sleep.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Eskild sets the mug on his nightstand as he watches Isak shift uncomfortably back against his pillows. “I'm worried about you, Isak. This isn't the second time I’ve had to retrieve you like that.”

 _”Retrieve,”_ Isak mumbles back mockingly. “As if I wanted to be picked up like that.”

“Yeah, and it's not happening again. I'm confining you here. Doctor’s orders too. There's a bottle of water and tea on your nightstand – don't get up if you need anything, please just call my phone.” Eskild’s tone is light despite the tired creases in his forehead. So. Isak just nods instead of talking back. Whatever.

According to… whoever saw him in the triage after Jonas called an ambulance, his brain was sort of… in overdrive for so long at a time that it sort of shut down as a stress response – something they quickly classified as a symptom of his PTSD and sent him home on strict bedrest for the rest of the week. On the car ride back to the kollektivet, Eskild gave him three option: lay around in the living room, get some sleep, or watch some movies. That's it. That's all that he's allowing him to do until he can get home from work tonight. 

It's not like he's got a _ton_ of movies on his computer. It's mostly old PC games and PDFs of textbooks he's pirated, but. 

Maybe over a month ago, Isak had taken it upon himself to find Even on the internet– coming up short with everything but the fact that he was incredibly interested in cinematics and Baz Luhrmann, and. That's pretty much the front and back of the story of how Isak ended up with a copy of the 90s version of Romeo + Juliet. So. As if he wasn't already drained enough.

Let's watch this movie. That his hospitalized significant other absolutely adored. _Adores._ Holy shit, Isak, he's not... gonna fucking die. He had a heartbeat. He's fucking _fine._

Good decisions. He doesn't care. 

__**Unknown** (20:17) Hi Isak, this is Even’s mom  
_(20:17) I got his number from your phone. I hope that's okay. I wanted to let you know that Even’s condition was upgraded to stable._  
_(20:19) He's gonna be okay. If it wasn't for you he might not have been. Thank you so much.  
_ _(20:20) I wanted to extend a hand. You're welcome in our home any time._

 

_Kjære Lea,  
It's been a while. I don't know why I’m writing this._

_i miss you. these last few months have somehow been the best and worse of my life – i'd do them again though. again and again. because there's someone i want to tell you about who is making every day worth it._

_i left home. i couldn't do it anymore. dad broke my wrist and my social worker (who i met right after we stopped writing) wasn't moving things along fast enough for me to be comfortable there anymore. they got into a fight and i left. i left. i haven't spoken to them since. they haven't tried to reach out to me either, so maybe it was for the best._

_i met a boy. and – it just hit me that you don't know i'm gay, but i hope that's okay. but i met a boy and his name is Even. his eyes are bluer than the fucking sky and i can't look at them for too long without feeling like i'm being swallowed. he's the sweetest person i've ever met… and he's just like me. scared and playing it off all the time. you know how i know? because i think i killed him._

_he tried to kill himself and i let it happen. he gave me every sign in the book, and... i just ignored them because I trusted he'd come to me if he was having problems. but i guess one of the biggest signs that someone wants everything to stop is by going out quietly. Lea, he gave me a fucking playlist that ended in a song that literally talks about someone who killed themselves and how the songwriter dealt with it, and i just... glossed over it. he told me a story about a girl who had the same name as the song and i thought he was making the story up to give me a lesson, but now i see he was telling me about himself. and now… he's probably leaving. i don't know if i can handle losing two people like this. i think that's why i’m writing you. i'm scared of losing someone again._

_i'm sorry i'll never send this. i'm sorry we haven't spoken in years. i miss you everyday. -Isak_

***

Isak often considers himself lucky that he’s able to… sort of “forget” he’s got insomnia. Not the kind people joke about having during midterms -- like… it’s been a problem for as long as he can remember. He can’t remember any given day where he had to remind himself to take his sleeping pills because 22 or 23 would roll around, and he’d just… be sitting at his desk. On his phone. Playing video games, watching movies. Then he’d pop a sleep-aid and call it a night, because… he often considers himself lucky.

He hasn’t taken a single one since discovering he and Even were prescribed the same ones. It feels tainted. Poisonous. He can’t do it. 

It’s 16:16 when he checks the time again. He’s been awake for something like thirty hours by now, and it’s the second hour he’s just been rolling the tablet between his fingers, between his lips. He knows he isn’t going to be able to do it. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t try for another two hours.

He feels so fucking overwhelmed and tired that it doesn’t -- it barely seems like anything’s happened in that space of time. He feels like he’s blinked a few times and hasn’t moved his hand from his phone. His wrist is kind of cramping. That’s it. That’s all. 

Isak stands up from the bathroom floor to eye a reflection he doesn’t really recognize -- one so murky and… he’s a fucking mess. Jesus. He can barely stand to look at himself. He’s been able to brush his teeth, to take care of the most basic things in the last few days, but. Something terrible in the back of his mind still wonders what step he missed that triggered some sort of dumb fucking cosmic imbalance that made Even do that. What did he do to make Even do that.

What _didn’t_ he do. 

Okay, that one wracks a sob out of him. He’ll admit to that. Probably because it sounds so sharp against the bathroom walls that he’ll be a little surprised if no one else heard it, probably because a little part of him _wants_ someone to hear. It’s not fucking criminal to want comfort right now.

But when he checks the time again to find it at 18:22, he quickly realizes that everyone’s gone right now. Eskild drilled his work schedule into Isak’s brain for emergency reasons, Linn’s a far greater party-goer than he could’ve first imagined. No one’s here. No one’s here.

Isak desperately doesn’t want to be alone right now, feels too empty and full at the same time to be able to comb through anything. He doesn’t feel safe, so. No point in making himself stay that way. Especially when it’s a Tuesday. And he has something literally called “safe place” to run to.

For a minute… Isak ponders over whether or not disobeying doctor’s orders is a bad idea. But he also can’t make himself fucking care beyond those 60 seconds. He just doesn’t want to be here right now. Will do anything not to be here. Will do _anything_ not to be here.

So. Yeah. He leaves. And refuses to let himself feel bad about it. Fuck.

The door’s unlocked by some grace of god or glory or however the fuck that saying goes, whatever. He’s just thankful he has a warm building to hole himself up in instead of the fucking frigid December outside. 

He busies himself with looking at all the advertisements and flyers decorating the entry away, because – it's… he really isn't sure what he wanted to do when he got here, honestly. Isak's pretty sure he just planned to sort of sit around in the entrance and pray someone–

“Isak?” He hears to his right, effectively making him jump out of his skin. He gasps a little bit as he jumps and – like, he doesn't really have time to hate himself for it, only can really register that Bodil’s arms are so full of paperwork she kind of looks like a yeti. He swallows harshly when her regret is written all over her face. “Oh, I – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for–”

“You're fine,” He chokes out, trying to wave her off. “It's fine. I’m – just skittish.”

“I'm still sorry,” She says. “Here, come in, like – group doesn't start for a little while, but you're welcome to follow me to my office?”

And. Isak doesn't know Bodil. But he also doesn't want to be alone. _Reallf_ fucking doesn't wanna be alone. So. He follows. “Do you mind if… I try to finish this up? I'm a horrible procrastinator, this stuff should have been done weeks ago.”

“That's okay,” He tries to smile, and thankfully she returns it just as well. She gestures with her shoulder for him to follow. They head up a staircase beyond the circle of chairs that leads to– it actually looks more like a loft than an office, but Isak's not about to say anything. Really.

There's cozy sofas and bookshelves littering walls alongside blankets and pillows strewn about carelessly. It's muted – lamplit and full of russian greens and earthy siennas that Isak feels a little too comfortable in to… to notice that Bodil’s talking, apparently. 

“How’re you doing?” She asks lightly, settling the stacks of paperworks on the floor next to her desk. Isak shrugs. “What's up? I know you're usually here early, but… nearly an hour and a half?”

“Yeah,” He sighs and offers her a weak smile. “Yeah. Just… I dunno. I didn't wanna be at home.” 

“You can sit, y’know. Don't be a stranger.” She waves to the couch, and Isak… honestly it just sounds too nice to pass up, so. Cozy sofa it is. Hell yeah. Bodil keeps her eyes on him as he settles back with his feet pulled under himself. He quirks a brow at her smile. “You wanna talk about anything while we’re one-on-one?” 

“Eh,” He shrugs. “I dunno. I just needed somewhere to be.” Isak swallows, furrowing his brow as he nods at the floor. He pulls his sleeves over his hands in the event she was ogling them, and – and if the screech of her chair against the pavement was any indication, she definitely was. He doesn't look up as she shifts around.

Eventually, though, her voice is right in front of him and startling him from whatever dissociative trance he lured himself into before. She's smiling sadly.

“You can… talk to me, y'know? I know what it's like to be completely alone like this. Like that.” She says it quietly, so comfortingly to the point that it actually springs tears to Isak's eyes and –

And before he can stop himself, words are just pouring out of his mouth like a dam breaking; like some torrential wave of emotions threatening to crack his facade in the first place, he just… Talks. And cries. And fucking lets it out, because… maybe he didn't realize how badly he needed to. He tells her everything – about mom and dad. About how Jonas pulled him into the locker room and despite Isak swearing him to secrecy, Jonas is far too good a guy to let it rest under the table. About why he's still seeing a social worker every ten days. About Petersen – about Eva and the deal they made, about how he feels horrible from drifting away and making her cry when he _finally_ fucking said something. About Even.

Everything about Even. 

About how he makes Isak feel like he's not trapped in his body, how he's not a burden unto everyone around him and himself. About how strong and warm and light he makes Isak feel on the worst days – about how he sounds like a melody Isak never wants to stop playing, one he didn't know how badly he didn't want to let go until Even _couldn't_ talk because he tried to _fucking_ kill himself. And Isak didn't notice, just completely disregarded every single fucking warning sign despite being in that place himself once.

It takes him almost forty minutes to comb through. By the end, the shiny, wine-stained meat on his palms is damp with tears and so is the rest of his face.

Bodil is quiet for so long that Isak is 65% done preparing himself just to dip out wordlessly, when–

“Isak,” she swallows, giving him the kind of earnest expression he hasn't – “Can we… talk about something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next on Friday. featuring a lot more Even. c:


	16. XVI (with hearts and wrists intact)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: it's 19:41  
> me: it's Friday in Europe. time to post :^)
> 
> i don't know if i ever reiterated that writing this fic was supposed to like... take away from all the angst canon was giving us, and then it turned into this angst-fest in itself because i am a Sad Gremlin. but. consider... consider it from here that this fic is gonna have a lot more _healing._

“What?” He exhaled quietly, suddenly far more unsure of himself than before. If this fucking lady’s about to tell him off for everything he’s feeling -- 

She lowers her head to look at the carpet, a sigh filling the room like some unrealistic ghost cloud that decided to smother Isak because -- why the fuck’s he so overwhelmed suddenly? What?

Bodil reaches around to her desk and pulls open a drawer that -- that honestly _sounds_ like it hasn’t been opened in years. Jesus. Isak only briefly wonders what can of worms Bodil is electing to open with him when she stops moving again. 

Bodil studies the box for a really long fucking time. She thumbs at the frayed cardboard on the edges and drums her fingers against the lid, each fucking clack of her fingers making Isak's stomach clench uncomfortably. On the wrong beats he flinches. He's pretty close to just telling her to say it – he sees her eyes flick towards him, for fuck’s sake – when she opens her mouth to exhale. And then Isak's at the beginning of his cycle again. 

“We can… _talk_ about this, right Isak? It won't be just me telling you things, and then you walking out?” Bodil screws her eyes shut, and, uh. What the fuck.

“I’m not making any promises,” He mutters. She lets out a deep sigh before shrugging it off, tugging open the lid and setting it back on the desk gingerly. “What… what are you – _we_ – talking about?” 

“I became a social worker because I didn't get along with my parents so well,” She sighed, flitting through the box. “It wasn't my idea – my… boyfriend, at the time, he gave me the idea. I’m really glad I followed this path, I am, don't get me wrong, but… I haven't felt like I've done anything important, y'know?”

“I… yeah,” Isak nodded jerkily. “Yeah, you – you wanna help kids like you, but you're just sorta stuck hosting therapy groups and doing paperwork?”

“Exactly,” She gave him a small smile, and. It made the tumbling in Isak's stomach grow languid. Which he made the pointed decision not to focus on as she kept speaking. “Anyway, uh. Remember how I said I knew your mom and stuff?”

“Oh, is…”

“It's not about her and you, no. I knew Marianne though. She was a nice lady. I felt awful for her all the time. I heard she's… not been doing so well.”

“Yeah,” He lied easily. Despite having not seen her in – shit, however many weeks it's been since he's been back there, it's not like mom was ever doing _well,_ honestly. “Do you keep tabs on her, or something?”

“Not really,” Bodil tugged an envelope from the box, unfolding its creases and pulling out a sheet of paper. “I feel like that’d be trespassing. I end up just hearing about her through the grapevine and stuff… never knew I’d see you, though.”

Isak raises an eyebrow as something in his throat goes frigid. “What, did you know who I was before I came here?”

She holds up the paper again in response. Isak tilts his chin as if to say okay, so? and then. She purses her lips out. And reads. 

“I don’t know what good it’ll do to tell anyone,” she reads, and, um. What. “I don’t want any of my friends to look at me differently. Besides, I can take care of myself. You taught me how to. Mom’s teaching me a little bit too. I see how she keeps steak knives tapes underneath the ledges on the counter and never takes her hands away from her sides – as fucked as it sounds, I think I’m a little more scared for her than I am for myself. Maybe I can help her or something. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

“I mean… I know you want to talk about mom a lot and stuff. It’s just hard for me to explain what’s happening when I keep forcing it down. I almost don’t even want _you_ to know, and you’re the one who's supposed to get me out of this, right? I’m sorry.” And, uh. By the time she finishes.

Isak can’t fucking suck in air to save his life. His hands are pulled so tightly against his stomach he’s not even sure what room is left for his organs, the skin on his cuticles damn near raw beyond repair, and. And.

What.

“Huh?” He breathes out, and, um. Bod-- not, that’s. Not. Bodil. 

There’s a damp fucking -- whatever, okay, he’s fucking crying, it’s old news -- and he just. He can’t breathe. Can’t fucking breathe and, and -- his mind is whirring so fast he’s sharply reminded of his mother telling him again how his thoughts will pour from his ears, and then he’s hearing it in his own voice as Even pulls him into his lap on the floor of his bedroom -- 

He suddenly sees it, and that makes it so much fucking worse. Makes him clench his eyes shut and he, fuck. He wants them to roll back into his skull so he doesn’t have to see it again. He leans forward to dry and duck his head between his knees, but there’s way more hands here than there should be -- 

“Isak? Isak,” He’s hearing, and, it’s. It’s so fucking far away. “Are you with me?”

There’s hands on his cheeks.

“Fuck, don’t,” it’s not a yelp, but it’s not like she’ll attest to that one. He shoves himself back further into the crevice between the cushion and the armrest, but it’s -- “Holy shit,” He mumbles breathlessly. His hands come up with his sleeves to cover his face, just to. See if hiding from the light will help. “What the fuck…”

“Isak?” She tries again. The sofa sinks where she sits across from him, and. When he opens his eyes just to -- he doesn’t fucking know why, actually, nevermind that. He forgets the instant he sees her mirroring his position, arms shaking as though she wants to _reach out._

Shit. Some primitive part of him _wants_ her to. 

“I can see it,” He’s just. Saying words, apparently. That’s happening. “I can see it. I don’t know how I didn’t before, you. You fucking _look_ like her. When the fuck did you change your name?”

“I…” She raises her eyebrows and -- and it’s just. It’s so much. Even moreso when he sees tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Isak, Bodil is my middle name? It always has been. My name’s still Lea -- I just. Got married, to…”

“Veeti?” He swallows, and. She nods. “Fuck. What the fuck.”

“You didn’t… did you really not know?”

“No!” He jerks a little bit and -- and she does to. “No, how the fuck could I have? Jesus, I haven’t talked to you, fucking _seen_ you, in so long? Sure, something was off the first time because you were acting really put off about _mom_ and -- fuck, I…”

“Isak, it’s o--”

“Lea, I-- I fucking moved out, and I have no idea if mom’s even _alive_ right now, and you… I was reading over some of your letters last week? _Last week?_ And now you’re here sitting in front of me, you fucking have been for like nine or ten weeks, and you just… you just watched?”

“Isak, I thought you _knew._ I thought that’s why you weren’t coming very much, I… I didn’t know. How was I supposed to approach this?” She -- was kind of pleading, honestly, sniffling as she wiped at her eyes with her thumb, and. 

Lea.

That’s… That’s Lea. Desperate, near the doors, unable-to-handle-conflict _Lea._ Who had no idea how to fix herself let alone her upbringing, her little brother, her fucking mother, and just. Keeping her voice steady as turmoil unfolded. Learning behind everyone’s backs how to do CPR, what PTSD looked like, telling Isak he had OCD through her letters -- how to keep quiet on hardwood, help-me-move-this-dresser, here’s-how-to-lock-the-window-behind-you _Lea._ She could be beaten into the floor, hanging on consciousness and yelling at Isak to lock his bedroom door with a swollen throat. That’s Lea. That’s. Lea.

“Fuck,” Isak exhaled, and just. It’s not like _she’s_ gonna fucking judge him for how wet his voice sounds. “Lea, what the fuck?”

“I really miss you,” she tried. Which. Was all Isak needed for him to snatch at her wrist and pull them together because -- jesus christ, he’s _never_ been fond of touching people, _always_ thought he was more poison than antidote, never even _wanted_ the touches, or. Or so he thought, maybe, because Lea’s arms are just as noodly as they’ve always been and her hair just as limp as her hugs her across the cushions, and. And she. Hugs him back. “I really fucking missed you.”

“This is a mess,” He mumbled. Lea’s laugh is like sleigh bells, like Christmas morning on his eardrums. “You have so much explaining to do. Oh my god.”

***

It’s cold.

“Does Even know you love him?”

“Maybe… not quite this much?” 

“You know for sure he’s okay, though?”

“His condition was stable last I heard.”

“I think you should tell him. He could probably use that right now.”

Warmer.

***

“He’s pretty adamant that it was an accident, actually,” she’s murmuring overtop her cup of… coffee, probably. Isak’s not really close enough to see it. “Says he was just… desperate to get some sleep. He just wanted to stop being sad for a minute, but he couldn’t get it to go away, so he kept taking them until he felt too heavy to stand up anymore.” She takes a long drink, and. Isak can’t say anything.

The entire week was a blur. He’d been reeling too much with all the information force-fed to him, and he just. There was no _handling_ it. There was just really long naps in his boyfriend’s hoodies and not working up the courage to text him, until. Until… Anette, apparently.

Saturday rolled around before Isak really registered it. He hadn’t been to school all week and had barely been awake for the other portions, so when he woke up to insistent vibrations from his phone, he. Was a little taken aback. He’d made it pretty clear to his friends: he has a lot of shit to think about, please don’t bother him, he’ll be back next week. Eva didn’t take particularly well to that, but. Isak thought made it pretty clear. But there his phone was. Vibrating until it tumbled off the nightstand.

The caller ID was Even’s mom, and Isak’s pretty sure he’s never picked up a phone so quickly before. He jammed it against his ear, but it. It definitely wasn’t his mom. It was Anette, who he’s… Only met once. Fleetingly. But she’s calling him. 

“We’re home,” She said quietly, tiredly. “We’re home, and… you don’t _have_ to come over, Isak, but you’re the only thing he’s talked about all week. Even to the nurses. Especially to us… how upset his boyfriend will be that he did this, how scared he is that his boyfriend will be mad. How he’s so sorry he scared you he can barely live with it. He didn’t mean to do it, he just wants to talk to you… We didn’t give him his phone on doctor’s orders or anything, but he still asked if you texted and stuff?”

“What’d you tell him?” Isak asked, and. Only years of practice of being on the verge of tears allowed him to keep his voice steady. He palmed at his eyes as she spoke.

“We couldn’t tell him. If you want to come over… I’ll be here. Our parents went to sleep, and it’s a Saturday morning, it’s not like anyone else’ll be awake. You can come over.” Her voice grew quieter with every word. Isak could barely hear her over his own trembling.

“Does… can I see him?”

And that’s how he ended up here. On the front porch with Anette Bech Næsheim. Whose undereye circles were almost as bad as his own. “If you ask him and he says _any_ differently… you can’t keep that to yourself, you know that?”

He nodded jerkily. “I know that. Is he even awake?”

“Oh yeah,” She almosted _scoffed,_ “He… for sure. If he’s asleep I’ll be shocked.”

“Didn’t sleep very much at the hospital, then?”

“No, no.” She shook her head with pursed lips. “He kept saying that he’d much rather be restless and exhausted than have nightmares about whatever happened again. That happened the last time he did this. So. No one was about to make him.” She shrugged as she took another drink. 

Isak stepped inside with the kind of rocks in his throat he probably hasn’t felt since the first time he had to meet with Olsen. Shit, fuck, _don’t--_

He crammed his palms into his eyes, willing any given thought about fucking _Olsen_ or Bo-- _Lea_ out of his head. Isak pressed his forehead against the wall of the foyer, rubbing at his eyes like the heels of his palms were some sort of bullshit magic erasers. It made him groan a little in frustration. There were still a lot of emotions right there. Right now was the exact opposite time to deal with them. He just wanted to see Even, not fucking--

 _Isak,_ jesus. Cool it. 

He lolled his head back to look at the ceiling. If he started fucking crying, he was gonna leave. He’s not dealing with this. He’s fucking _not._ Christ.

It took a minute or two of grappling -- at his chest and shoulders, back at his eyes and in his solar plexus -- to get himself to let out a sigh that he thoroughly convinced himself took all his emotions with it. He just doesn’t have the time, the energy to deal with all that stuff right now. No part of him wants to. 

Instead, he toes off his shoes. Instead, he pads through the foyer on wobbly knees around rounds the hallway to Even’s room, where the door’s drawn open and the lights are off. 

It’s like the world stops again, not… not unlike how it did exactly a week ago, either. His ankles are winding up each step in slow motion again. His wrists are cramped up and it’s -- fucking like his heart slows in his chest, he can hear every beat but they’re so few and far between, he just -- 

He can’t breathe again. Seeing Even’s head propped up against the headboard-lining of his loft bed, hoodie pulled over his scalp is like… It’s too fucking real. The only difference is that he’s got two white pillows holding him up as he looks down to the laptop on his knees. He’s watching something. His eyes are open, flicking around the screen, moving and _reacting_ and-- and it’s just.

It’s too much. 

Even’s alive. He’s right fucking there, too. Isak swallows something hard in his throat and, and. He doesn’t care how badly his eyes are watering. He just wants to fucking _look_ for a minute. Let him live. 

The pain dissipates the longer he stares, a hand coming up to cover his own mouth as he just… Studies. It’s pretty fucking magical to see the guy. It really is. He doesn’t have any other words for it. Even’s headphones are in as he watches whatever the hell it is -- color grading in the shots changing his skin from this pearly blue to a honey white and he --

Isak pads forward into the room a little bit to put a palm at the bottom of the ladder, just to see if Even sees. When he doesn’t… There’s very little Isak can do but to push himself up the rungs until he’s sort of… level with Even. A breathing Even. A living Even. The fucking _love_ of his _life_ Even. He’s damn near tempted to reach out and run a hand through Even’s bangs, completely unstyled for once in his damn life, but he. He knows that would not only effectively scare the life out of Even, but, uh. The gauze and ace bandages wrapping his hoodie-clad palms would probably have a lot to say about it as well. 

Instead, he just. Leans in a little to reach out with his index finger to run across Even’s shoulder. Because. Damn. Not gonna lie. He really wants to hear his voice. Hear him responsive.

Even jerks, which -- expected, honestly, Isak would too. He doesn’t flail or anything, mostly just yanks his earphones out and lets the laptop slide sideways off his lap, but. He’s then propped up on his elbow, angled towards Isak with crystal clear baby blues and… and just breathing. It’s kind of enough to make Isak want to cry again. He pulls back his hand to rest his chin on folded forearms. 

Even swallows harshly, his own eyes sort of… 

He reaches out to close the laptop and shove it down to the opposite end of the bed before he rolls back on the mattress, giving Isak room to crawl with him, and -- and barely giving him enough time to settle on his side before Even is tucking his nose into the dip of Isak’s collarbones. There’s something instinctive about the way Isak’s arms wrap around him, twisting them around to lie on his back so that Even can weigh him down into the mattress because -- like, if Isak’s honest with himself, the last time they laid like this… Even’s heartbeat against his own ribs was probably _the most_ comfortable sensation he’d had in years. He lets Even tuck his own arms underneath Isak’s back and settle between his legs, because. 

Because this is really fucking comfortable. Isak takes one of his hands to dip underneath Even’s hoodie and trace at the skin where it dips in the base of his spine, just to feel how warm he is. The other -- bandages be damned -- comes to thread his shaking fingers in the hair at the nape of Even’s neck. And. Yeah. He can feel his heartbeat. 

Even’s chapped lips kiss at the base of his neck as he mumbles _i’m sorry._ Isak just hushes him as his eyes fall shut. 

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs into Even’s hairline. “I’ve got you.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Even sighs, and. It’s so warm against Isak’s throat that there’s no real way to hide the shiver it sends down his spine. “I wasn’t trying to…”

“I know, babe. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I heard that you were the one who found me.” Even tries. Isak nods minutely as he traces a line up Even’s spine with his fingertips. It’s right then that it registers how much Even’s shaking. “I’m so sorry, Isak, I just--”

“Hey, hey,” Isak moves his arms to hug him around his ribs. “Even, look at me.”

The older boy pulls his arms out from Isak to anchor himself up on his elbows, gingerly hovering over Isak to meet his eyes, and. Jesus. Isak’s stomach feels so sour at his expression. His hands move of their own accord to cup Even’s cheeks -- it’s all he can do to pray that Even doesn’t say anything about the bandages. “Just… hey, Even. Hi.” 

“Hi,” Even murmurs back, and -- and there’s a little smile playing at his lips. Isak’s chest is fluttering too hard not to mumble,

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

Even’s grin is --

The relief that washes through him -- he. There was no helping it. Seeing Even in that kind of proximity again was kind of overwhelming. It still is. And. Seeing Even give him a little grin like that was so _fucking_ worth it it almost makes Isak start crying. He’s fairly sure Even can see his eyes tearing up. “Listen. Just… take it minute for minute. You’re fucking _alive_ and that’s… that’s so much to me right now. I was never mad at you. I don’t know… where you got the idea that I was. I was scared out of my mind, sure, but… you’re here right now and you’re _breathing,_ babe. I don’t want you to have to spend these minutes apologizing for something you don’t need to. I don’t want you to remember this badly. Like. Remember it like this.” 

He exhales breathily as he winds a hand around the back of Even’s neck to pull him snug against him so -- so that Even’s dry lips can connect with his own in a way that Isak couldn’t call chaste if he tried. He can feel him warm up to it. Can feel him relax down against Isak in a way that makes him feel like his own bones are melting, because -- actually, that’s probably because the thumb of Even’s left hand has found it’s way beneath Isak’s hoodie to rub against his hip bone. 

Fuck. He’s so warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok _firstly_ i'm taking moments from Even's movie he made for Isak. i am taking them and i am using them. that was too fucking cute to ignore _ever_
> 
>  _secondly_ i have another Even-POV-os that i... straight up don't know what to do with anymore so you can expect that sometime over the weekend
> 
>  _thirdly_ next chapter on Monday c:  & _t h a n k y o u_ luna for reading this and helping me feel like this is Not Terrible.  <3


	17. XVII (baby blue i understand, i've been here too)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello have you missed me and my lies about a consistent updating schedule  
> i'm sorry for that though, like. i have depression & that's about the front and back of my excuse
> 
> on another note: this chapter actually got _too long,_ if that even makes sense?? i always try to cap them around 3.2-3.5k, and this one's touching on 5k, so we're... we're cutting off the nose of the last scene and tacking it on to the beginning of the next one, but i found a good stopping point with _no cliffhangers_ for once, so. just enjoy a weekend at Even's c;

Avocado toast.

That's a thing in this household. Deadass, Isak is handed avocado toast by a woman who doesn't look a day beyond 30 with french tips on her fingers and – it's like Noora? It's like Nina Bech Næsheim is Noora with five kids and a second marriage. She's got the white blonde locks and a cable knit sweater and everything. The only thing that clearly separates them outside a lack of makeup and height – is that Nina looks so fucking _tired._

“I was a little surprised to find you awake,” She's – whispering? Barely above a whisper. It's too comforting. “It's… what is it, barely 05? Do you like coffee?”

He nods around the toast, because, honestly? He doesn't trust his brain to say the right thing right now. It barely feels like he blinks before she's sliding a mug of dark roast in front of him on the island as well. 

He can't – like, fuck. Okay. Even most definitely got his eyes from his mother. It's freaking him out a little bit, and while Isak can't really explain why it didn't occur to him Even would _look like his parents,_ this is just. Jesus. 

“Are you usually up this early as well?” He tries, combing his hair back into his hoodie via skinless fingertips. Nina notices. But she also just – grazes completely past it, like. Like that's normal.

“Mm-mm,” She shakes her head _no_ as she takes a drink from her own mug. She leans over the opposite edge of the island to face him a little better. “My sleep schedule does whatever it wants these days. If I can get a couple minutes in here and there, I'm gonna, but it also means i'm awake at weird hours too.” Isak nods along, because. That's. Too relatable right now. She gives him a small smile. “What about you?”

“More of the same, actually,” He shrugs. This woman is – the longer he sits here, the more evident it becomes that this is _most definitely_ Even’s mother. She's just as fucking friendly and charming and it's kind of jarring. Really jarring. “I don't really know if I’ve ever had a normal sleeping pattern, I… I’m used to being on my toes, y'know?” 

She's silent for a long time, studying him with kind eyes before half-whispering, “Can I ask you something, Isak?”

He nods. The single string of track lighting above them takes on a weirdly… Criminal Minds aura. She's Prentiss and he's fuckin’... a wrongfully placed suspect. He can't think of an episode right now – she's already – “Or, well, a couple things I guess. Even… he talked about you a lot in the hospital. I wasn’t sure what seeing you would do to him, but I'm really glad Anette called you – anyway, um. He mentioned… he's really worried about you?”

“Yeah,” Isak nodded along. Where was she going with this, uh. “Yeah, he's always… yeah.”

“Even’s last girlfriend… Her name is Sonja, she's a nice girl. Er–” She backpedals upon seeing his expression. “No, it's– they haven't talked in almost a year, I’m not – Even’s a really passionate kid. He's always been really precise and… when he figures out what he wants, he doesn't let go. Would you believe me if I said he didn't even want to _see_ Moulin Rouge the first time?”

Isak balks, and. She smiles warmly. “Exactly. He knows what he's after once he finds it. He never had that with Sonja. Honestly, I… I think they started dating because it was expected of them, almost? It took them a little over four years to figure out. Even had just left his other school and Sonja… thought she had all the answers. How to knock him out of his episodes and keep him from having other ones, knowing his schedules and keeping a close watch to make sure he didn't… deviate, I guess? If he did, she immediately assumed the worst, and brought out the worst in both of them. He came home from his first day at Nissen and told me they were done. I asked him why, and he said it was because he _’knows what he needs now.’”_ She held up air quotes, and. Isak couldn't really figure out why she was telling him all of this stuff – Even had never… did he ever even mention an ex-girlfriend? It made him squint in thought. 

“Okay…” He mumbled around his toast. Nina’s smile grew soft. “Are you… trying to tell me he knew what he needed when all this came about?”

“Oh, no,” She went a little pale and Isak suddenly felt _horrible._ “No, no. When he cooled off a little I asked him what it was he wanted, and he said he laid eyes on this blond boy that had his hat turned backwards giving his locker a glare that would have frightened off a K-9 unit. I remember laughing and he got _terribly_ offended, apparently dead serious, and that's why I remembered he said it like that.”

Yeah, Isak doesn't have any blood in his veins anymore. It's all in his fucking face. Burning like the sun and Nina is just _smiling._ “After you'd left when I met you the first time, he came into the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal and I was a little amazed. And he just told me he'd finally had the guy – and then he started backtracking with, ‘but only if he'll let me, oh god, what if he feels pressured,’ and… you know.”

Isak wants to reply with something, he really does, something about how the first time he laid eyes on Even, he'd… he knew something was different too, but. All his mouth is really doing is hanging open a little. Nina’s eyes are sparkling and for a second, just for a second, he sort of feels like he's talking to her like she's _his_ mom too and – and that one makes his stomach hurt pretty bad. He glances down because shame is _hot_ and it _coils._ But _it's a shameful thing to be weary of inquiry_ some weird voice that sounds _suspiciously_ like Sana reminds him, so–

“Before– uh,” He swallows the lump in his throat. “Before you ask me whatever you had next, can I…” 

“Sure, sure!” She smiles again and Isak wishes this wasn't nearly as comfortable as it was. He feels like he should be afraid of her for some reason, but he just.

“How did you react when… you found out that Even…”

“Was bipolar?”

“Er– I was gonna say ‘liked boys’ but that, that… works too?” He furrows his brow a little. She nods into her coffee cup before she speaks. 

“Mm. I guess… finding out about… we thought it was his PTSD that was making him lash out. We never looked into it. Ericka kept saying he had ‘lunacy’ so that… kind of became our household term for it?”

“Ericka?” Isak wracked through the names Even had given him, but – he couldn’t remember…. 

“His – Even’s step-mother?” She raised her eyebrows, and. Well. That covered that one. “He's never…? Okay, well, um. Even’s father and I… our marriage didn't survive Germany.”

Oh, shit. Fuck. He didn't mean for this to – “He got remarried to a girl named Ericka who – honestly, she's lovely, but she's pretty excessive. Overprotective, rather. That's a better word. But – okay, anyway, you probably didn't wanna know all that,” She laughed a little uncomfortably, palming the edges of the counter and leaning a bit. “We didn't really think to get him checked out for a while, but he had an episode that landed him in the hospital. The on-campus nurse diagnosed him with bipolar depression I, we pursued it with psychologists, and… yeah. It didn't make sense to start treating him differently. Even has always been good about setting his own limits, we just… we just support him along the way. It's a nice dynamic. 

“As far as… him being pansexual and things, he never had to tell me. I couldn't tell you how long he's known about it himself, but before I met his step-dad, there were… girlfriends. I never brought them home, I didn't wanna mess with all the baggage my kids were going through without piling my own stuff onto it. The only reason they found out is because one of them had– okay, actually, you probably don't want the full story.” She rolled her eyes at herself, and Isak let out a little huff of a laugh. “Where I’m headed with all of this is that I didn't sign up to be a mom so I could mold four – five, sorry, five little people into being specific… types of people. I just wanted them to _be._ For Even… I think that always meant being the person to push him out of the plane.”

***

“She was gonna try to adopt you,” Even laughs, _laughs,_ it's fucking music to Isak's ears as watches him pull a shirt over his shoulders. He wishes he didn’t notice the watermelon hash marks staining Even’s arms, but. “I guarantee that if Silje hadn't come downstairs, she was gonna try to make you move in with us.”

“What?” Isak chuckles and definitely _doesn't_ inhale the scent of Even lingering on the hoodie he’s wearing while his boyfriend’s back is turned. He’d leant it to Isak (alongside every other article of clothing on his body) so that he didn't have to run home and change, because, uh. Neither of them said it, but they _really_ didn't wanna… be without the other right now. 

Even had a little glint in his eyes as he stepped backward toward his bed, standing on his toes to prop his chin on the railing. Isak leaned over his crossed legs, settling himself on his elbows to bump their noses together. Even smiled, and like – Isak damn near asks Even to marry him or something, but he promptly smothers that thought under the Pillow Of Impulse.

Isak wrinkles his nose in a smile as Even breathes “Yeeaah.” Even smiles against it further. “Yeah. Apparently I turn into a chatterbox when I’m all drugged up. Would _not_ stop talking about you, mentioned how you left your own home and stuff. I didn't give her any details,” He quickly placates as Isak's eyes widen. He reaches up to run his knuckle across Isak's cheekbone. 

“Then…”

“My mom likes you more than she likes me,” He jokes lightly. “She would have for sure asked you.”

“Would that be weird for you?” He ponders aloud. Even snorts against him, pecking (or– not really, every kiss Even gives him is dragging and intimate, but it's a peck relative to others) him before swiping over to the ladder to climb up and join him. He reaches out for Isak with grabby hands and – like, Isak's not gonna fuckin’ say no to him? Look. He's gonna try to revel in all the contact he can get before his body makes him quit. He leans forward to let Even drag him down against the duvet, chest to chest as Even lies on his back. He brackets his arms around Even’s shoulders to box him in (mostly to lean over him too, but like… no one’s gotta know that). 

“Eh,” Even shrugs lightly. “I kind of… offered to steal you away, if you don’t remember.” He takes his arms, tentatively, to wrap around Isak’s ribcage. “Also -- while you’re here, uh…”

“Are you trying to change the topic?” Isak laughed a little, because -- like. Even doesn’t… get embarrassed. He’s, in his own words, filled his lifetime quota on being humiliated, so he’s… done with it. So seeing a little flush rise to his cheek as he _rolls his eyes_ makes something flutter around in Isak’s throat that he doesn’t quite know what to do with. 

“Let me live,” He chuckles. “We’re gonna be laying around all day, and I really do wanna have you watch Harry Potter. That’s some pivotal childhood experience you missed out on. I have all the movies and it’s _snowing,_ Isak, I think the universe is trying to tell us not to waste this opportunity.”

“Even,” Isak’s laughing, he can’t really help it as he knocks their foreheads together. “It’s December. It is _always_ snowing. _Always.”_

“So that’s not allowed to be a sign?” 

“That’s not what I said,” and now Even’s laughing too, like. Properly. It’s so fucking nice. “We can watch them on three conditions.” 

His eyes are so glittery. It kind of takes Isak back to the night when they first sat in his Solara, and Even was looking at him like he hung the stars or something. It’s… god, Isak never wants to stop seeing them so bright. It takes Even a few long moments of just smiling dopily and searching around Isak’s eyes, of just running his hands down his sides and curling his fingers in to murmur, “And those are?”

“You… we watch them up here, like this, on your laptop,” Even nods along easily. “You make hot cocoa, because apparently your mother has some secret stellar recipe for it,” and that has him laughing a little. “And…” He swallows. Now or never. He’s gotta… do it at some point, because. It’s important. 

“Isak?” Even raises his eyebrows. Rather than -- well, anything else, he guesses, he just adjusts his weight to lean to the side a bit and reach back with one arm to tug on Even’s hand. Even automatically uses it to pull his sleeve over his palm to make Isak a little more comfortable as he cups his cheeks, but -- Isak tugs it back again, dipping his thumb inside the fabric to run over the ligaments at the top of Even’s wrist. He sees Even inhale sharply, sort of freezing a little under the weight of Isak’s gaze. “Uh,” he breathes out.

“Just let me talk for a second, yeah? You -- I, just. I get not wanting to talk about what’s going on. I _get it,_ Even. My therapist recently brought up something to me, about… about how you can talk about what’s going on, but unless you talk about _why_ it’s going on and _why_ it’s making you feel so terrible… you never… it never gets better.

“If things are hurting bad enough...for… that, y’know? For you to try something like that, I just… please talk to me. Maybe not me, if you’re not comfortable, but--” He’s cut of sharply by Even leaning up on the arm Isak was holding, pulling him into a hard kiss that said a _lot_ more than Isak really thought kisses could… convey. If that even makes sense.

“I trust you with my _life,_ Isak,” Even breathes out when they break apart, the soft smacking noise filling the room around them. “I do. I just… you’re going through a lot. The last thing I wanted to do was add to it.”

“Well fuck that,” Isak says breathlessly, goes for lightly. “No. Talk to me. Please, please fucking talk to me.”

Even looks like he takes a moment to pull his breath back together before he nods slowly, wringing out his wrist from Isak’s grip to cup his cheek again and pull him into a piercing kiss.

***

“Hope you can stay awake this time,” Isak teases as Even tries to extend his long arms way beyond their capability to press play. He shoots Isak a playful glare from where he's settled on the same pillow, which has both of them laughing a little bit honestly. Once the movie’s going, it's… surprisingly easy to just –

Well, for one, the fact that they're half curled beneath the four blankets Even has strewn over his bed warrants cuddling by itself. The other part is that Even shut off the lights and closed the curtains – not necessarily to set a mood, but. To set up an actual cinematic experience… in his own words. It made Isak laugh a lot. Still, watching movies in bed. It's pretty freakin’ easy to just roll into each other with their arms under necks and shoulders, behind ribs and hips, pretzel their legs together and just… have this. 

And it's during the second one – Chamber of… Secrets? Yeah. They've said it like eight times now, Isak should have the name. Geeze. But, it's during the second one that Isak becomes bold enough to take the sleeve from his palm and let his poorly taped hands (which… Even still hasn't mentioned, and Isak doesn't think it's because he hasn't noticed) comb through Even’s hair. He hasn't put any gel in it or _anything_ since he's come home and it _really, actually_ feels like downy feathers. Holy shit. He doesn't understand why Even styles it at all when he could be looking like this. 

Even absolutely embraces the petting, too, which only makes Isak's heart melt a little further. 

“This is, like, the best scene,” He can hear Even’s smile  
too, which makes his eyes snap back to the screen. They're all huddled around a little cauldron on the floor of a restroom, a ghostly figure hovering above them innocuously and – wait.

“Why… are they on the floor of the girls restroom?” He asks slowly, because. Because he knows exactly what Even’s about to do.

Which he does. He snaps his head up to look at Isak teasingly, tongue darting between his lips before cracking into a smile. 

“You're not – are you even watching it?” He laughs, and! What!

“Uh, yeah!” Isak tries not to sputter, but he's so indignant it comes out anyway. “They're – Hermione – the polyjuice potion ingredients. They're collecting them so they can sneak into the Slytherin commons and find out if Draco’s the heir of the house, so they can find out if he has something to do with the petri–” But Even, in true Even fashion, doesn't give Isak the opportunity to finish before he's twisting around on his elbows to plant one, maybe two dozen kisses on Isak's face to get him to shut up. 

Listen. Just because it works doesn't mean Isak's gonna let something like that sneak by again. 

But. Also. If there's anything Isak’s learned in his 17.5 years of living, it's that he doesn't get away with shit. Like. Anything. He makes a plan? Other-worldly forces strike down upon him. This time… that means someone fucking _calling him_ during some _very serious_ eskimo kissing in the opening credits of Prisoner of Azkaban. He groans against Even’s cheek as the other boy _laughs?_ He almost snipes back that this is no laughing matter before Even’s tossing his phone into his chest. 

He waits for Even to pause whatever the hell Harry is doing with his wand in the middle of the night before he answers the unknown number with a tentative, “Hello?”

“Isak?” He hears, and. Uh. He raises his eyebrows in what is apparently poorly disguised shock, because Even’s ducking down to catch his gaze with a quirked brow of his own. Isak swallows harshly as he sits up a little better.

“Hi,” He exhales. “Um – what's…”

“I just wanted to see how things… went? After we talked on Tuesday you still seemed shaken up, I just wanted to make sure…” Lea’s so _tentative_ it makes Isak want to cry for some stupid reason. He clenches his eyes shut. Opens them again to find Even meeting his gaze with the kind of concern Isak’s still not used to.

“I’m actually sort of busy with that, like… right now.” He says it a little guiltily, but. “How did you get this number, by the way?”

“Oh!” The impact of the sound makes Isak jump a little, but Even’s steadying hand on his bicep helps him back down. “Oh, I -- I can call back then. I got your number from your caseworker, I just explained that I never had any contact info for you and things. It’s okay -- um, when would be a better time to talk?”

He searches around Even’s face again as he tilts the receiver away from his chin, “Uh, Even?”

Beyond Lea’s little squeal of _whatever_ the fuck she’s excited about, Even hums in reply. 

“Do you… do you wanna go to group on Tuesday?” 

It takes him a moment to think it over, which is completely fine? Like, Isak’s almost entirely expecting him to say no when he nods very gingerly. He relays it back to Lea, who, yeah, squeals into the receiver again. Jesus christ.

“Okay! Okay, great,” she’s saying. “I’ll see you then!”

And – upon hanging up, Isak can’t really say he _wasn’t_ expecting Even to ask questions. 

“Everything okay?” He asks, and. Fuck, like, of all the fucking times. Isak nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about it later. I really just wanna watch these movies with you right now. Please.” 100% truth. It really is. 

Y’know what else is 100% truth? Even’s probably the cutest person Isak’s ever seen when he’s totally knocked out. He fell asleep as Snape scares the hell out of Harry as he’s wandering the corridors, his face pushed so far into Isak’s neck that Isak’s, like. A little surprised he can still breathe like that. Not that he’s complaining -- he knows that at some point, Even’s accidentally going to rub against him the wrong way and his body is going to decide it’s had enough, so he’s trying to revel in this while he still can. 

Even stays asleep _well_ into Goblet of Fire, too. Isak can't even pretend he's mad because he's. He's really fucking not. He's almost overjoyed that Even’s 1) finally getting some sleep, 2) comfortable enough with Isak right here to just pass out against his throat, and 3) he now has ample opportunity to bundle Even up against him while he's sleep-riddled and pliant because – yeah, okay, sure, Even’s super bony and lanky in his chin is a little sharp, but he's also hella cuddly. Holy shit. The guy practically nuzzles in his sleep and – and Isak's heart is about to burst. Not like he'll ever admit that, would probably deny it vehemently if ever challenged, but. He's gonna revel in this for a second.

Or – maybe no more than twenty minutes, because that's all it takes for Dumbledore to be damn near smacking Harry into a cabinet and yelling some gibberish at him that even _Isak_ has to laugh about a little. It's mostly silent out of fear of waking Even up, but. When his shoulders are shaking and sort of making his boyfriend’s chin move with the process, it can't really be helped. 

Even’s sharp inhale sort of makes Isak jump (he's _right_ next to his ear, okay?). He leans back with a palm to Isak's chest, right over his heart as his sleep-voice (rasping and like, so quiet that it kills Isak) mumbles, “Hey, what – are you okay?”

“Yeah?” Isak whispers like it'll break the bubble they're in. Even’s scrubbing at his eyes and examining Isak warily. He moves his arm to prop himself up on the elbow next to Isak, on his stomach while Isak’s on his back with a hand still caught in the hem of his hoodie. 

“I thought you were crying or something,” Even mumbles. He pulls his hood further up his scalp, bangs nearly long enough to cover his eyes and. Isak just wants to coddle him. “Where – geeze, why didn't you wake me up? I slept through the entire thing?” 

“You're like –” Isak's smiling before he can stop himself. “You're like a cherub when you sleep, with your cheeks all puffed out like that.” 

Even gives him a _shy_ little glance before he hides his face in his sleeves. 

“Shut up,” he tries, which. Really. _Really._

“Even,” Isak laughs, pulling him back towards him. “C’mon. Come back.” If he'd known Even turned into – into fuckin’ a _baby_ when he was sleep-ridden like this, he would have done something about it a lot sooner. 

Despite that, Even manages to keep himself up for the rest of the marathon, perfectly comfortable with skipping what he'd missed as long as Isak promised to give him his thoughts on the Marauders situation promptly upon finishing. During Half-Blood Prince, he’d even – well, okay. Even said it was to avoid their limbs falling asleep, but. Isak's pretty sure he's got some weird sixth sense about –

“Are you uncomfortable?” He'd asked, leaning up on his elbow to shadow Isak a little bit. Isak furrowed his brow. “It's okay, Isak. This… it seems like it's been a lot for you?” 

“No,” Isak breathed softly. He shook his head slowly. “No, I just… I am okay. This is really nice. I didn't really take for granted every time I was able to hang on to you before, but now I feel like…” There's no reason to lie. _There’s no reason to lie._

“Feel like… like you have to be close to me?” Even tried, but. No. No.

“I feel like I don't wanna regret _not_ doing something just because it scares me a little. I want to be close to you because… I don't think I realized that any moment could be the last moment, y'know? I’m just trying to let it happen while I can. Any, like, uneasiness I have will wash out in the shower.” He shrugs, but that only makes Even look sorer somehow.

“You mean… like this?” He extended a hand down to Isak's, gently rubbing his thumb over the bandages. Cool. Glad he… noticed, Isak guesses. Fuck. 

“I don't know. This last week has been a lot. That – don't do that with your eyebrows,” He sighed, reaching up to smooth out the creases with his thumb. “It wasn't anything to do with you. A lot’s happening outside.”

But Even looked… fucking sad now, and that stung. He ran his thumb over Even’s cheek in smooth motions. 

“I'm gonna keep you in here forever,” Even whispered. He leaned down to bump their noses together. Shit.

“Only if you stay here too,” Isak mumbled, letting Even press their lips together briefly. 

The movie had only passed for… maybe forty minutes before Even was whispering to the air between them. 

“I couldn't imagine wanting to live forever like that,” he mumbled. “Not just – okay, that sounded bad. I just mean that it doesn't seem worth it to split yourself up like that.”

“What's the science behind horcruxes, even?” Isak asked because, because. He wasn't sure he liked where Even was heading in that tangent. He was incredibly thankful when Even chuckled. 

“Isak, it's literally a story about magic. There is no science. He just… casts pieces of himself away like that. Pure magic.” 

And then Isak's talking before he can stop himself. Pure magic.

“A piece of me went with you in that ambulance,” He mumbled. He felt Even shift, but. He didn't have the courage to look up. “They… fuck, they just sort of pushed you around like you were nothing, and it killed me. You were still a whole person right there. You were _alive,_ I could see it in your face, but they just. Just didn't care. Not until they had the cardiogram on you and had some like, physical counter telling them what to do. They wouldn't let me in either. It was like they were drilling into my head that I couldn't do anything to help you. Like they were trying to remind me it was my fault, just back up, you're not wanted here anymore. And then they closed the doors, and…” He shrugged. And sure, maybe his eyes were watering a little as he distantly watched Draco ascend a staircase, but it's not like Even could tell.

Or. He could. He was palming and pushing at Isak's shoulders until he was flat on his back, leaning overtop again with a palm to his cheek. 

“You think it was your fault?” He asked breathlessly, eyes filled to the brim with tears. “Isak, do you actually think it was your fault?” 

“I…” He looked for a spot on the ceiling that wouldn't make him cry. “I could have helped you, Even. Instead I just let you get worse until – until you –”

“Isak,” Even clapped at his cheek, forcing him to look back at his expression. “Isak, listen to me. I did it to myself. Even if you did help, something still could have happened. It's no use to – Isak, I am alive. Okay? I'm right here. And everything's okay. It's no use to wonder what might've happened otherwise. I'm right here.”

Well. That was it.

He surged up to plant a firm kiss against Even’s chapped lips, dry and warm and just. Apparently Even needed it as bad as he did, pinning him back against the sheets with arms on either side of his head. Isak's arms wrapped around his neck and – fuck. Fuck. No part of him wanted to let go. 

There was _so much_ in the contact. _So much_ Even was trying to tell him, to say _i'm here, i’m not leaving, i love you, i love you, i love you._

Even if air eventually did become an issue –

“You know,” Even’s breathing was harsh against Isak's lips, like he couldn't stay away if he wanted to. [“You know, in French? The way they say ‘I miss you’ translates a lot closer to ‘you are missing from me.’”](https://open.spotify.com/user/xxlevibech/playlist/6V1Ne3oFPHK5G7uHD5fg7B)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i listened to that playlist as i wrote 80% of this i would like it if y'all gave it a chance as well ;) i'll link it again right here for some shameless pandering: [it's called "tu me manques"](https://open.spotify.com/user/xxlevibech/playlist/6V1Ne3oFPHK5G7uHD5fg7B) which, as i understand it, means "i miss you" in French. 
> 
> any-who. thank you Luna for... giving me 65% of this chapter, and also for just being a lovely human being <3


	18. XVIII (i've known the warmth of your doorways)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually had this finished on time but i am a Grade A human disaster so. have it this many hours late
> 
> i wish i had more words for you all this morning, but uh. all i can really think of is how amazed i am at all of you -- for real seeing your feedback restores my will to live. thank you all so much <3

Deathly Hallows is _really fucking good,_ Isak doesn't give a _fuck_ if Even says something bad about it. Which he doubts, honestly, because Even is just about as enraptured by three teenagers sprinting through a forest as he is. It's a good fucking scene. 

They get just past the slow-dancing when he chances a glance over at Even – half to see him all cozied up under the duvet with his long sleeves and hair falling softly along his brow bone, half to see if he's awake and paying attention – to see him staring right back and, uh. It's overwhelming, how blue Even’s eyes are. Like _actually_ takes Isak's breath away to see them twinkling against the light of his laptop screen, almost fucking ethereal in the darkness around them.

His lips are chapped and he’s got acne scars, although an actual one, softly indenting his cheek does alongside his laughline, reigns there as well. His eyes are sunken like he's not slept in _weeks_ despite falling asleep on Isak like he literally radiates melatonin every chance he gets. His hair is – granted, he did shower this morning, it was shiny in the wrong ways prior to that, but his hair looks so wispy and soft against his skin that Isak actually had to tell him _you can tell me to stop_ in the middle of Order of the Phoenix because he couldn't stop combing his fingers through it. It's so _soft,_ like, what the hell. 

He's so real. And he's so fucking gorgeous. 

Isak also hasn't breathed since this fresh wave of eye contact started, he notes as he inhales. Even blinks, palm under his cheek reaching out to trace the curve of Isak's nose. It's just his index finger, but it still makes Isak shiver a little. 

“When I was – like, right after I started going to Bakka, I think, I wrote a story entirely inspired by one scene in a movie I was _obsessed_ with. I wanted to turn it into a screenplay so bad, but I wasn't sure how, and eventually ended up forgetting about it,” Even’s voice is barely audible, like anything more would pop the atmosphere. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“What's the story about?” Isak murmurs. Even gives him a little smile. 

“I’ve already told you the first half,” He mumbles. “Agnes and her fairytale tragedy.” 

“Oh.” It's all he's got, the memory sort of knocking the wind from him. 

“Agnes does have two kids with that guy. She's in her thirties when she and her husband are touring south France – it turns very Franz Ferdinand. Anyway, she returns home to… okay, like, the ending wasn't good,” He laughs a little. Isak smiles right back at him. “It was after Pretty Woman.”

“What was the quote?” Isak raises a brow, picks up his thumb to trace along Even’s bottom lip. 

“Ah, it… there was a moment… it wouldn't make sense. Maybe I’ll come up with a better story to be able to tell you.” He squints as he smiles. Fuck. How. Is someone _that_ cute.

They stay like that for a while, the dimmed sounds of characters arguing down by their knees further drowned out by how closely they examined each other – Isak's pretty sure he could go blind right now and be able to describe the violet hue in Even’s cheeks. 

“When's the last time you ate?” He mumbles, but Even beats him to it.

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” He says quickly. Like he just ran a marathon. Like it was the last thing he'd ever say.

Okay, Isak, what the fuck. Too soon.

“What?” He's saying before he can stop himself. Something drops in Even’s expression right then, and Isak's really really never going to forgive himself for doing that. “What, no, hey. Hey,” He moves his hand to cup Even’s cheek. “I just wasn't sure – Even, I don't know what I'd do without you either.”

He's already smiling.

“I like how hard you have to backpedal,” He tucks himself further into Isak's space to bump their noses together with a gleeful little look in his eyes. “You. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you so much, Even.”

***

It's post-marathon, post-cereal-for-dinner-at-22:00, post-shower, post-teeth-brushing that he sees the missed notifications on his phone. It's pre-Even-joining-him-up-here though, so it seems like the appropriate time to answer.

Two calls from Eskild are easily managed, keeping himself as short and distant as he can with a promise that he'll stop by before he goes to school that sates him. Seven messages from Jonas, two from Eva – both who stopped by the kollektivet to just make sure he was alive, only to find him completely absent and Eskild unsure of his whereabouts as well. Texted. Done. Easy peasy.

It's the last three messages that hang him up. 

It's the unknown number he'd quickly typed into his phone as ‘Lea Ahonen’ because – because that's who she is now, but it's not the fact alone that she's texting him that has him hung up. 

**Lea** (19:58) Hei Isak!  
**Lea** (19:58) I know I told you a little bit about Veeti in my letters. Would it be too soon to ask if you wanted to meet him? He's known what's been going on and I think he's more excited than I am to hear about last week  
**Lea** (19:58) Also, I have something to tell you on Tuesday. Family stuff ;) 

Well, fuck.

***

“So… when I was eight,” He starts, most of his eye contact focused on his gloves. “I’m 99% sure I could have called the cops and had my dad thrown in prison. He used to psychically assault me and my sister. Um – it'd range from bruising to broken bones. He tore a ligament in my sister’s leg one time. It went on for a long time and because I was a naïve eight year old with a fourteen year old sister, I learned a lot of things I didn't put together at the time. Like how to put together splints and what kind of information is important to cops at crime scenes.

“Lea wanted to go into social work. She said she needed to know that stuff, but now I kind of get that it was to protect _us,_ too. And then… when I was eight, it all kind of blew up and she went away. I never really got answers outside of ‘she's up at school in Hammerfest’ and things. When I got my social worker like, two years ago, I learned she was in Tromsø studying social work… yeah.”

“What does this have to do with the last two weeks?” Eva asked, crossing her elbows on the bench. 

Monday morning, Isak had called both of them individually. Jonas first, then Eva to say he's okay, he's alive, he's coming back to school today and he wants to talk to both of them. He said these last two weeks have been hell. He said he wants to talk to them. Which is true. He _wants_ them to know, almost needs them to just so he can let everything _out._ He hadn't even talked to Even about Lea, and hasn't talked to anyone about Even – this was just necessary. Even if it made him cry or something.

So he called them to a bench outside of a kebab joint they frequented during lower-secondary. They didn't go inside – none of them really voiced it, but this wasn't… wasn't something they could talk about over a meal. And Isak didn't want to say it, but he knew that… it was because of him that they couldn't stomach anything.

“I'm getting there,” He sighed, flicking his eyes back and forth. Eva looked more than uncomfortable, Jonas just… concerned. Jesus. Alright. “Um, okay. Yeah. So – er… at the beginning of October, Olsen, my social worker, signed me up for this group therapy thing for students who… have dealt with some pretty gross stuff. I didn't really wanna go, but the second you throw the words ‘court-mandated’ around, shit gets real. So I went. About halfway through the meeting, in walks Even, and he and I hit off like… like _too_ quickly, but I couldn't help it. There was something about him. But you guys know all of this, right?” He nodded, and they matched him. He swallowed as he turned his gaze back to his gloves. The skin itched, he could feel it crack as he flexed his fingers, but. 

“Okay, yeah. Keep that in mind. At the group, the lady who ran it always acted really weird around me, and I… never thought about it? I didn't _want_ to think about it, so I didn't.” He looked back at their confused expressions. Jonas looked like he wanted to say something he couldn't quite find the words for. Isak kind of wanted to roll his eyes, wanted to make a dumb comment about how relatable that was, but. He's already on thin ice here. 

“When I get – I used to hurt myself a lot,” He carefully ignored their expressions on that one. Ignores Eva’s deep inhale, ignores the audible swallow from Jonas’s end. “I don't anymore, but now when I get bad, I take really long walks in the middle of the night. I ended up telling Even about it because his sleep schedule is just as ruined as mine, it seems like we're always awake at the same time.” _If that were true you would have been able to stop him that night,_ the horrible part of himself spits, and. That one burned real nice. Fuck that.

“Okay…” Jonas filled the silence Isak didn't really register.

“Oh, I. Okay. Yeah. And one night he drove me back to the kollektiv right? I just… fuckin’ crashed. Out like a light. And like… an hour after that, I get a message I didn't see until well past waking up. Basically, um,” He swallowed down whatever lump was forming, determined to get this out. He _had_ to get this out. If he had a take a minute to steady himself, then they could deal with it. “Even outright asked me what I'd do if he wasn't around anymore.”

He doesn't have to look up to feel their expressions. Isak feels cold all over. “Yeah, uh… found him a few hours later. I didn't realize how much he fuckin’ meant to me until I was pulling his body out of the bath tub, and until they were tossing him in the back of the ambulance, y'know?” He permitted himself to sniffle exactly one time, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand when he looked up.

Eva cries. That's a thing she does. He’s seen her cry before and while he didn't necessarily think she'd never do it again, it's still unsettling to see her wiping at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. She won't look at him, didn't expect her to, but that… making Eva Mohn cry felt like a cardinal sin. Making _Jonas_ cry was touching on unthinkable. 

Because that's… that's just not a thing Jonas did. He empathized, sure, that's what Jonas was _good_ at. He just fuckin’ _got things._ He had emotions. He just never, um.

Never had to furiously blink away tears, never had to dig his fingernails into his palm to calm himself down quite like this in front of Isak. So he kept going. Might as well.

“That's why I was gone for a bit,” He sighed, head suddenly feeling heavier than it had all week. Fuck. Finishing this seemed a lot harder right then. “And then one night I didn't know what the fuck to do with myself. I was too antsy, didn't want to talk but didn't wanna be alone, so I went back to that therapy group just to fucking have somewhere to _be_ for an hour. I get there and the lady who runs it pulls me upstairs with her just to… hang around until people started showing up.”

He chanced a glance up and it– he either had to do this fast or he was gonna break down right here in the middle of town, so. Fuck. His head hurts. “I didn't go to Bodil to talk her ear off, but that's what ended up happening? And then she cools me down and says ‘hey, can I tell you something?’ And…”

“What, did she report you back to Olsen or something?” Jonas asks eventually, voice gravelly and exhausted and Isak's not sure he's ever felt this guilty for talking about what's happening with him. He shakes his head slowly.

“Bodil, she's… Bodil’s first name is Lea.”

They both snap their gazes up like they'd seen a ghost, eyes widening where Eva’s mouth dropped open, Jonas’s jaw clenched tight. Isak didn't know what to do. Sat frozen across the table from them, picking at his fingernails through the gloves. No one said anything if his eyes started watering, if his chin shook as it –

As it really, really fucking sunk in that his sister is set up with her husband uptown. That his… what, twenty-four year old sister was –

“I forgot how pretty she was,” He mumbles, voice trembling as he brings up a hand to wipe at his eyes. He lets out a shaky sigh when he makes eye contact with the buttons on his coat. “It’s like… like she was imaginary for all these years, or something? To the point that I didn’t even recognize her, and…” He rolls his eyes around to try and keep himself from letting tears out. 

He doesn't really have time to register it – it's just happening, Jonas is just grabbing him by the hand to collect it between his own before he's speaking.

“I'm sorry,” He says earnestly, breathlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry. If I’d known–”

“That's not your fault,” Isak's shaking his head. “You couldn't have known, man. It's not your fault.” 

Jonas nods his head, looking down at their conjoined hands for a moment before Eva dives in with her own own to grip at Isak's wrist. 

“What do you need?” Her voice is damp with tears. “What do you need. Anything.”

“For you guys to keep this one quiet,” He says gently. Eva raises her eyebrows, but he shakes his head. “I'm handling it. I’m handling it, I swear, I just… this isn't something I can be interrogated about, by Olsen or Skrulle or anybody. The thought of telling you guys had me ready to blackout. I don't wanna involve anybody more than I have to right now. I still have to talk to Eskild and Sana, and… fucking Even, je–”

“Wait,” Jonas furrows his eyebrows, is he – balking? What? “You haven't talked to Even about…”

“Nope,” He shakes his head slowly. “Nope. On Tuesday. At the group, we’re… yeah, at the end I’m gonna say something.”

“How're you feeling about the whole thing?” He asks, and, well. Uh. “About Lea.”

“Yeah… I don't know. It’s still not real for some reason. Every time I think about it it'll sink in a little more, but I… it's not like this happens, y'know? Things have happened everywhere else. I know how I feel about my parents and about what happened with Even, because I've been in those places before. I've never been here before.” He shrugs, looks down at their hands. It feels really weird -- not just because he’s still trying to navigate touch, but just because his hand tingles under the weight.

“Do you really think it's her?” Eva voices quietly. He can't really blame her for asking. 

“It’s – yeah. She read me one of the letters I sent her. We have the same, like…”

“Smile,” Jonas says, and –

“What, you mean your upper lip? How did you not notice that?” Eva quirks a brow, and that gets a smile out of him.

“No, dumbass, he would have seen that,” Jonas is laughing too, and it's such a nice change of pace that it almost makes Isak cry. “Their _teeth.”_

“Oh. Ohhh,” Eva nods slowly. Jesus christ. He snorts at her, tugging out his hand to gesture flippantly, like _really?_ and she laughs right back, so that… That was a pretty successful talk. Yeah.

***

__**Lea** (08:22) Hei Isak!  
 **Lea** (08:22) Are you still coming tonight?

**til Lea** (08:29) I plan on it  
**til Lea** (08:30) is Veeti going to be there? 

The fact that she never really replies is answer enough for Isak.

He’d spent the night at Even’s again (at more than one person’s request, Nina herself had pulled him aside and asked that he keep an eye on her son while she stopped by her office in the morning) and had even persuaded him to eat an actual breakfast. And it’s not… he’s not a chef by any means, but it’s not like he doesn’t know how to toast a bagel and scramble some eggs. Even’s cheeky voice from his barstool at the island, chin nestled in his forearms and threadbare hoodie leaving nothing about his shoulders to the imagination, had even tossed in a couple tips. 

“Hey,” He’d said quietly -- Isak barely heard it. He spun on his heel to look at him properly. “Sour cream. In the eggs. Do it.” 

“What?” Isak raised an eyebrow, voice hitching on a laugh that had Even rolling his eyes. 

“Trust me. It’s on the top shelf in the fridge. Just a tablespoon, don’t… like, overdo it.” He gestured towards the fridge lamely. Isak squinted at him playfully as he moved over. “What? Would you prefer crème fraîche?” 

“Would I prefer _what?”_ Isak laughs, giving him a perturbed look overtop the container. 

It was numbingly domestic. It’s a good morning. 

He didn’t even mention school. By the time they’d rolled out of bed, it was well into their second classes anyway. No part of him wanted to go, no part of him even thought about leaving Even alone whilst he was still… coming out of whatever spell he’d been in before. Isak didn’t want to _say_ it was a depressive episode, but all the reading and listening he’s been able to do about bipolar disorder in his downtime has given him… a pretty good idea that that’s what happened. Until the guy was completely back on his feet, actually eating regularly and not at Isak’s insistence, going to school and _taking his meds,_ he wasn’t gonna stop being on high alert. 

He wasn’t going to press Even about anything. Like, sure, there was a huge urge to hover over him and make sure he wasn't sinking back into his brain matter, but. Isak's real fucking glad he was able to hear the story about Sonja before he poked around in Even’s headspace. 

He can… kind of guess where Even’s at, regardless of that. He's been there. He’s been in the spot where all he can really ask for, all he really wants is to just stop thinking about it. 

Even watches him wash out the raw skin on his hands with an emotionless expression, only pursing his lips when Isak hissed at the feeling of the hot water. He sat on the counter next to him with his knees hanging over the edge, slouched over so he could see Isak's face tucked against his chest. 

“I meant it when I said I don't know what I'd do without you,” Even whispers. Isak lifts his head. “I… do you wanna spend Christmas here?” 

“What?” Isak blew out a breath. “I couldn't do that.”

The only sound between them for a few minutes is the tap running down the drain, Even’s measured breathing and Isak fiddling the water temperature. It's slow, it's easy – Isak thinks this is what it feels like when cold fingers touch the right places on a mug, how the warmth makes him shiver and everything after goes languid. 

Even’s arm eventually reaches across Isak's chest to wrap around his shoulder, tugging him a little closer to press his lips to his temple. 

“But I want you here.”

Isak twisted his neck to meet his gaze, their lips just hardly brushing. He gave Even a little smile after a moment. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

***

“When I was fifteen, um,” Isak says suddenly. He can feel all the eyes in the room flash towards him. “Right before things went _really_ downhill at home, I… like, I think it was right around that time that my insomnia really started to develop. I made some decisions I regret, I ruined my my best friends’ relationship out of sheer jealousy, hurt myself, lashed out at my father, which… ended up shoving me further down the well.” He looks up to catch Lea’s glance, who’s gazing right back at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“I tried to act like nothing happened. I was pretty good at it for a little while. I was cornered during gym by that _same_ best friend about what was going on, so maybe… maybe not _that_ good. All the legal stuff started happening around then, but -- okay, where I’m going with this is that, um. Last spring, after everything had fallen apart with my friends, I only really talked to _one person,_ and even then it was never about what was happening to me. My parents were incredibly, like… I was never allowed to go out, so when my friends kept inviting me to parties on school nights, I always knew it was a no-go and just never even sought it out. 

“One night, my friend was hosting a pregame at his house and I _knew_ that, but things were really bad that night? I ended up calling one of the girls I didn’t really talk to anymore, and, uh. It turns out they were all _together._ Everybody I’d disconnected from. But I didn’t know that and didn’t have anywhere to go. I was having a panic attack _on the phone_ with her while she was sitting there with a drink in her hand, like a half-hour walk from her house, it was just… ugh.” He shook his head in distaste, leaning back in the folding chair as far as his neck could go. He cleared his throat when he sat back up in an effort to get himself to cool off about the incident. 

Isak wasn’t sharing this story for the group. Wasn’t telling anybody to _heal_ from it, no, this was to… share with Even. To share with Lea about stuff he wouldn’t talk about otherwise. He’d already made peace with the whole thing, so… why was this so hard to finish out?

“Anyway... when she got back to her house and found me sitting on the porch, I had a black eye and my wrist was all fucked up. It still is,” He held up his hand to wiggle his wrist around, completely forgetting about all the gauze and band-aids patching his skin together like they were grafted that way. He let it pop around sickeningly in its socket for a few seconds before cramming it back in his pocket. “But, uh. Yeah. She grabbed me up by the shoulders and started pushing me through the front door, and I remember the first fucking thought I had was that her hands were my dad’s. It was like a was living in a memory for a second as her friend was gasping and yelling questions behind her, and I was like _‘fuck, he’s hurting Lea,’_ and I started freaking out. I don’t know how much I told them, or… but…” He bit his lip, shook his head.

“Isak?” Lea asked gently. He tilted up his chin to catch her gaze as he swallowed. 

“I cooled off after a little bit and started crying and apologizing, and then when she asked me why I was so scared because it was _just_ her, and I know she’d never hurt me like that, I started just… going off about my parents. How I’m scared of hearing footsteps and the sound of the garage door. How a door slam or a weird inflection in people’s tones immediately makes me think I’m gonna get hurt because my dad never fucking quits, y’know? And it’s not like my mom would ever help the situation. Her voice became… I heard sirens whenever she’d start yelling, it was fucking awful. And then I started telling her about--” His breath caught in his throat when a warm palm snaked around his shoulder, damn near making him jump up until he realized it was just _Even_ pulling him closer. Fuck. Okay.

It’s right then that he realizes he’s kind of on the verge of tears. 

“Uh, yeah. I started, um. I told her about how even if I could fix what was going on, it’s not like things could ever be _good_ again, because I’m gay and my mom is single-handedly the most devout religious person I’ve ever met, which… good for her, if it helps her? But a lot of my childhood was her just fucking listing all the ways people could be sent to hell over dinner. And my friend didn’t take that well -- er, not that I’m gay, that was fine. She didn’t like that she thought I couldn’t tell anybody.

“What came out of the whole situation is that these two friends, the ones’ whose relationship I ruined, sat me down and told me they were going to help. I didn’t want them to. I wanted to deal with it on my own, I wanted nothing to do with being a burden or weighing others down when I talked about what was going on, but… not only was she adamant about becoming my fake-girlfriend -- which makes sense now, I think she wanted me to keep a secret of hers as well with that arrangement -- but _he_ started becoming… he didn’t let me get away with _anything._ I don’t think I realized how badly I needed people like that until I… until they laid it out like that. Where I, um. Where I’m going with that is that everyone has _someone_ they can talk to. They probably don’t realize they’re there if they feel as isolated as I did, but. They are.” He chances a glance over at Even, whose eyes are glassy.

“They are.”

It’s not until well after the meeting that Even nudges his shoulder. They’re sticking around in the lobby of the building until they can race to the tram -- it’s fucking December, it’s cold as hell, they’re waiting inside for as long as they can. 

Isak’s brain is muddling through how he’s going to tell Even about Lea, and then have a _talk_ with her about something following that, when Even’s getting his attention. 

“That was brave of you,” He’s saying quietly, pulling an arm over Isak’s shoulders again to pull him against his chest. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you,”_ Isak mumbles back. He twists his chin to lean into Even properly, and it’s right then that he makes eye contact with Lea across the room -- she’s talking animatedly on her phone despite her own eyes pointedly looking back at him. 

“Hey, Even, uh,” He pinches at his boyfriend’s sleeve. “Can we… talk for a second?”

Even’s brow furrows nervously, making Isak reel a little. “Wait, no, it's nothing bad.” 

“Okay?” He says slowly. Isak reaches up to take his face between his palms.

“I mean it. There's just… Okay, you know how… that story I just told.” He nods, let's Even’s cheeks go so he can do the same. “I wasn't the only one here who… knew it, I guess. Um, Bodil over there, I talked to her about a _lot_ of stuff last week. She talked to me to make feel le– uh,” He stuttered, startled by his phone going off in his pocket. He looked over to Lea to make sure it wasn't her, but she was still talking into her own receiver as she stared over at them. He furrowed his brow as he fished it out. Lea raised one back at him, obviously as confused as he was. Unless… Eskild, or Jonas maybe? But on a Tuesday? Eskild knew where he'd be, he told him no less than thirteen times over the pho– _oh._

Oh.

Even hooked a finger into the front pocket of his jeans as he accepted the call. 

“Uh, dad?” Isak croaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but yeah. let me know what you think ;)


	19. XIX (cause god, i never felt young)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all
> 
> it’s been a while. i’ve had this chapter planned out for a time now, but a very poorly timed combination of things going on in my life kept me from writing it. it’s not like i _wanted_ to put this off, but like… some stuff’s just out of my control. i’m hoping that this won’t happen again. i have the next few chapters already laid out in an effort to try and maintain the once-a-week thing, but i’m gonna carefully reiterate that _some things can’t be helped._
> 
> anyway. i hope you guys… are able to enjoy this despite the weirdly long wait. <3

“Hi, Isak,” He sighs like -- like literally nothing has happened. Like he’s getting home from a day off work, loosening his tie and setting a tired elbow on the counter. Greeting his child like that’s a normal thing for them to do. Okay. “I’m so glad you answered. Are you available?”

_What?_

He flashes a look at Even who, jesus, looks sicker than Isak feels right now. Isak swallows harshly, leans against him a little. He kind of wonders if Even needs the support too, briefly, before his father makes a noise on the other end of the receiver again. 

“I’m actually -- this isn’t a good time, can we--”

“Isak,” He says, which. Yeah. Isak’s going to need the next few decades to shower off how gross that tone makes him feel. “I wasn’t really asking. We need to talk. I understand your therapy group ending a few minutes ago, you should have free time right now.”

“Yeah, well,” He scoffs, has no idea where he got the nerve to do _that._ “I’m don’t. What did you need to tell me? Can we talk later, or something? Is it that important?”

“Can you come home tomorrow afternoon? Directly from school?”

_No?_ He thinks, taken aback. _Like fuck I’m leaving Even alone right now? No._

Speaking of. 

He feels like he’s being quartered a little bit. He flashes a look to Even, blue eyes filled with something Isak doesn’t dare pick apart in this setting. He reaches up absently to thread his fingers in the hair at the base of the other boy’s neck, and thank _fuck,_ Even seems to lose a lot of tension at the motion. He offers Even a small smile before pulling him into his shoulder, like it’s second nature -- which, well. Could be claimed about the way Even’s arms lock around his midsection as well. 

“No, dad,” He says, perching his chin on Even’s shoulder. “I’m not c--”

“I don’t want to force you, son.”

“...Force me.” Isak observes flatly.

“I could report you missing, and both of us would hate to have to--”

“Because I can’t come home tomorrow afternoon?” He bites back, and. Jesus christ. He’s so fucking glad it’s just Even here.

And -- fuck, Lea’s over there, he suddenly realizes. His eyes widen when they catch hers, where she’s putting her phone back in her bag and giving him a questioning glance. 

Yeah. This is what being quartered feels like. He mouths the word _dad_ at her with a quirked eyebrow, like she’s got something to do with it, like she’s anything more than a bystander to -- well, shit, she’s coming over here, so. 

He gently releases Even, holding up a hand signal that he needs a second before pointing to his own eyes and back at his boyfriend’s baby blues. He cracks a teasing grin when Even gives him a crooked smile. 

“You _can’t,_ or _won’t?”_

“Does it matter?” Might as well play into whatever attitude he’s got going on. Not like dad can do shit from here. “If you need to talk to me, you can do it in Olsen’s office or over the phone. Not going back to the house.”

Lea’s in earshot, Isak realizes a little coldly when she freezes in her steps. He’s started moving towards her to ask something like _hey, does this have anything to do with you?_ and he can’t say he’s particularly convinced otherwise by the blood falling from her cheeks. Fuck. What the fuck. 

However, he can’t say anything about the way she’s suddenly swiping his phone from his hand to end the call, fingers trembling against the screen before she’s tossing it back to him anxiously.

“Wh--” He stops, barely registering what just happened as she holds up her hands in defense. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t talk to him,” She says. She’s. Miffed? “You don’t need that.”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“Isak, trust me. Do _not_ answer him. You have to tell Olsen that he called you. How soon can you get into her office?” Lea says urgently, stepping into his space again and reaching for his phone like it’s --

It’s the way she’s grabbing at his biceps when he’s stumbling backwards that makes him shove her away a little defensively, her hands too foreign, voice too similar to their fucking mother’s right now for him to handle that. To handle _contact_ when he’s trying to piece together things -- well, no, rather when his mind is trying to take him to conclusions that hardly make sense. And he knows that. But.

Doesn’t stop it from happening.

Like how he can’t get rid of the thought that his dad was about to say something about his sister. That she knows what he was about to say. 

“Hey, hey,” She steps backward again, clearly more than sensitive to whatever’s playing out in front of her. “Hey, I’m sorry, I--”

Her voice cuts off in his mind when a warm hand is suddenly brushing between his shoulder blades, pushing him a little further upright as the knuckles follow the bumps in his spine. It’s Even. It’s just Even.

It lets him exhale. “It’s fine,” He says, which doesn’t outwardly appease his sister any. “It’s-- it really is fine. I… I can call Olsen in the morning, or something, if it’s _that_ important to you?”

Her fervent nod is answer enough. “Wait, does -- who _knows?_ Does Olsen, or do I--”

“No,” Lea shakes her head. “No, just you. I couldn’t… that’s not something I could tell people even if I wanted to. I can’t have this getting back to mom or dad or… anyone. I wasn’t--” She stops for a moment, something regretful coloring her features. It’s not too hard to put together, he guesses.

Isak can’t help but want to call her a liar, to demand why she’s colluding with their father over something he’s yet to name, but. The way her eyes flit around his face anxiously take him back to a day when they crowded in his closet. And he can’t fucking bring himself to say anything. Instead, Isak feels his mouth twitch when Even’s hand slips down to his lower back. 

Wait. Fuck.

“What am I supposed to tell Olsen when she asks why I hung up on him?” He asks. “She knows it’s not like me to pull something like that.” And, like, sure, Isak knows what she’s going to say, but that’s not why he asked. How the hell’s he supposed to say _hey, Even, this is my long lost sister?_

It occurs to him that he could just skip it right then. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t sound terribly inviting. He hears his therapist’s voice in his head that he shouldn’t be putting off serious things like this, but. Well.

“Say your phone died.” Yeah, that’s what he thought. Now he just needs a way out of here.

Wait… Too easy.

“Thanks, _Bodil,”_ He tries for a pointed tone. Maybe a little too forceful. Probably shouldn’t have raised his eyebrows, or… gritted his teeth, but whatever. She apparently got the point, her own eyes widening as she nodded fervently. “I… appreciate it. Um. I’m gonna--”

“Yeah! Yeah,” They jerked their thumbs to the door at the same time, Isak a little more than thankful Even had chosen his left side to hang out on. He palmed at his face a little uncomfortably, reaching around with his open hand to pull Even’s palm into his own. He eyed him carefully as he led him to the door.

“...You okay?” He asked carefully. He’d led them backwards out of the swinging doors, shouldering it open for Even to follow him. 

“Worried about you,” He mumbled, pulling Isak against him again when the rounded the corner away from the building. “Worried.”

_**Lea** (20:19) We still need to talk, Isak  
 **Lea** (20:19) tomorrow at KB, around 16:30?_

***

Exactly no one has to know that Isak likes hazelnut macchiatos. That’s between him and the barista whose ears have gone deaf beyond the cubic yard surrounding the register.

He’s sitting at a table inside KB and staring out the window in a way that he thinks Even would call wistful, but really there’s just a hundred more interesting things in the intersection than inside this coffee shop. He’s also kind of hoping he can prep himself between the time he can spot Lea and when she sits across from him in a few minutes here.

His coffee keeps his hands warm in the meantime. Although he wouldn’t be particularly… against the idea that it’s also because he’s eerily reminded of the talk he had with Nina. He’s even wearing the same hoodie. He feels just as worn out. He could probably go for her amicable tone right now, too. 

When Lea _does_ get there, those thoughts are quickly swept away for later ( _no one,_ he quickly chastises himself, _needs to know he’s considering actually asking her about the rooming arrangement_ ). She sits down with her knees crossed in the seat, which. He decides there’s no commentary to be made about that.

“Hi,” She says fondly, and Isak splinters. “This is weird, suddenly.”

“Fuck yeah it is,” He exhales, a smile on his lips as Lea laughs into her hand. “This is so clinical. Jesus.”

“It won’t be. Just give it a few minutes. Can I tell you about some stuff now, or is your boyfriend hiding around here somewhere…” She looks over his shoulder teasingly. Isak snorts.

“No, he’s sleeping. I hope. But, yeah, go for it.” He sorta gets why she sat like that all of a sudden, sort of wants to mirror her, but. He opts for leaning back as she takes a drink. 

“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll let you pick: do you wanna hear about me first, or dad?”

“Start with dad. End on a good note.”

“Someone’s been going to sessions,” She raises her eyebrows. He tries to give a laugh, but. It’s a little too true, he thinks as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Okay, uh. Dad. Yeah. Right into it. I know why he called you, like… there’s only one actual thing he could want from you. He needs you to come back home, because part of mom’s income relies on whether or not she’s caring for kids, and she needs to be able to prove it. If it’s just her and dad living there… they won’t get those funds, he can’t buy more alcohol.”

“Shit, what?” He scrunches up his face in disdain. Lea nods back at him earnestly. 

“They tried to get me to do the same thing, actually. A few months after I left, he called me and started pleading that things would be different, he didn’t know how important I was until I was gone, but… I think both of us knew it was bullshit, and he just ended up owning up to it after a couple weeks. I didn’t come back, obviously, but--”

“They offered… to bring you home? And you didn’t?”

“That’s not what I said--”

“That’s literally exactly what you just said.” He raises his eyebrows, takes a slow drink to give her time to backpedal. He knows this game too. 

“...If I came home, it would have meant… putting a pause on a dream that I’d been thinking about for almost ten years. Everything was getting started for a second. I was too caught up in it to go back. I think you… know what that’s like, maybe?”

He knows she’s talking about Even, but. Fuck. He takes another drink and tries not to be a little offended, already sort of worked up and really not needing a conflict right here. “Okay, anyway, um. You… shouldn’t go back. He’ll find a way to keep you there, trust me. I don’t want that for you.”

“Aren’t they… Like, he said on the phone he could report me missing and that would be the end of it. I’m pretty sure they could bring me home whenever they feel like it, because Olsen has tabs on where I stay and stuff? I can’t hide from them like you did.”

“I’m… not saying you have to. I’m gonna change topics for a second and you’ll see how they’re tied together, yeah?” She nods at him, combs her shaking fingers through her hair. Huh. “Um, okay, so. Got married, you know that, his name’s Veeti, he’s-- here,”

She pulls out her phone then, unlocking the screen and showing him a picture of a guy lying on a hardwood floor. He looks… he’s definitely buzzed in the photo, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, but his hair is pushed back with bobby pins and his teeth are so white Isak’s not sure they’re _real._

“Veeti?” He asks, nodding back at her. She smiles. 

“He’s the best guy, Isak, you’d love him. Anyway, um. Both of us are really stable, y’know? I’m developing my career and he just signed on to a business practice… We’re doing really well. Thinking about starting a family and stuff. And I already talked to him about this, but, uh… I really don’t want for dad to snake his way back into your life, because it actually sounds like you’re doing a lot better just being _out_ of that house, y’know?”

“Can you not psychoanalyze me inside a coffee house, please,” He joked, earning a dumb smile from across the table. “I know I’m doing better, like. I can hug people sometimes, and holding hands with Even doesn’t make me wanna light myself on fire. Or -- like, remember Jonas? _He_ hung onto my arm the other day and it wasn’t bad. And I’m… like, I’m jumpy, but it’s not like everything I can’t detect before I see or hear it is a problem anymore.”

Lea smiles gently, hides it behind the lid of her takeaway mug. “I don’t think all of that is because you’re not around mom and dad anymore, but I like where you’re going. I really appreciate that you told me all of that… and it’s on that note, that I _really_ want to make sure you’re not around mom or dad anymore than you legally need to be.”

“How would that even work?” Isak’s doesn’t want her to have an answer. Like. He’ll entertain her, sure, but it’s not like--

“If I took legal guardianship of you?” She asks gingerly. 

Isak guesses the lack of bloodflow to his limbs must be noticeable, because she frenzies on. “I-- I mean, I’ve already talked to Veeti, and he’s okay with it? It’s just until you’re 18, which is barely seven months from now, and you don’t even have to live with me? We have the room if you want it, but if you’re more comfortable at Eskild’s or Even’s or--”

“Lea,” He tries somewhere in the middle, but she keeps going, so he reaches out to grab her elbow. “Lea, Lea. Hey.”

She stops, eyes wide. Isak briefly wonders if this is what he looks like when he backpedals. “It’s -- it’s fine, but… Like, that seems like a really big step really fast?”

“You’re right, you’re absolutely right, and I wasn’t even expecting an answer from you right now,” She tugs her elbow away to lean back in her seat. “I just… Needed to throw it out there. I don’t, _can’t,_ risk you going back to dad.”

Isak registers that KB isn’t the kind of place to mull it over, and he says as such.

“Can… I think that one over?”

“Can we see Olsen together about it on Friday, maybe? She’ll have more pieces of the puzzle than I will, and I think it could help you come to a dec--”

“Thank you, Miss Sociologist, but I think I can figure it out,” He laughs humorlessly. She picks up on it with a meager smile.

***

The answer’s gonna be no, he just doesn’t know how to tell her that. He knows it on the way home, he knows it walking up the steps and climbing into the shower, knows it as he’s flaking away the skin from his hands and washing them out, knows it as he throws on sweats and pads to his bedroom. Knows it when he nods to Eskild, who picks up on his tired expression with a single nod in return. Knows it when he pushes the door shut behind him, and when he makes eye contact with his boyfriend, sitting at the top of his bed with a blanket over his shoulders and legs sprawled out.

“Hi,” He says breathlessly, crawling on his hands and knees to join the other boy. They sort of meet in the middle as Even scoots down to lie flat on his back, Isak on his stomach next to him. Well, not before Even’s tugging him closer and affording him several kisses to make up for -- 

“You were gone, like, all day,” Even mumbles, running a hand through Isak’s curls.

“What, were you awake for it?” He teases lightly. Even gives him a little eye roll in return, so. It’s a victory. “Do you wanna stay here again tonight? There’s still daylight, we can--”

“Can we stay here for a while?” Even asks. Isak raises an eyebrow, nods slowly. “I just need a change of pace.”

And sure, it lingers in his mind, but it’s certainly not the only thing that keeps him awake long after the sun goes down and Even’s breathing evens out against the hollow of his throat. Well – okay, there's a portion of it probably to blame on the fact that he sleeps at every odd hour he can. Not being able to fall asleep when he wants to sounds about right.

He thinks about the night prior, the sinking feeling in his throat turning up again at the sound of his father’s voice. Fuck. If Lea was right – and part of him wanted to doubt her, wanted to pick it apart until he could prove to himself they were plotting something against him – wouldn't he have called within a couple weeks of him _leaving,_ instead of more than a month in? Why was he only reaching out _now_ if the only –

And _shit,_ Lea. He still doesn't know what to do with that. Doesn't know how to talk to anyone about that – maybe Jonas or something, come time to go to Nissen in the morning. He still has no fucking clue how to tell Even either; and it's not like he doesn't want to, he'd love – he can't. He can't. He can't shake the feeling Even would somehow be upset that he's been able to find his long lost sibling while Even’s… while his brother is never leaving the cemetery up the street.

He swallows harshly, the idea solidifying in his stomach that… this is going to have to be a secret. He doesn't want it to be. Also doesn't want to celebrate it, because something is _off_ man, he can feel it.

“Babe,” he hears, which starts the ever living _fuck_ out of him. He jolts upward in the bed and sort of knocks his chin against Even’s forehead, resulting in a hiss and breathless laughter. “Geeze, I'm sorry–”

“I thought you were asleep, asshole!” Isak hisses, shoving playfully at his shoulder. Even scoffs as he pushes Isak back down. 

“I think I was halfway there,” Even rests his chin on Isak's chest again. “Your thoughts are so loud, though. I bet you I know what you're thinking about.”

“Bet what?” 

“Maybe… if I’m right, you buy at the diner up the street. I'm wrong, I buy.”

Isak laughs quietly, fingers coming up to come in Even’s bangs again. He'd – he was never going to say this aloud, but – he’d probably guess this was one of those spikes of energy episodes can be accompanied by, but who’s he to even try to guess. He pretended to think it over with a click of his tongue before nodding considerably. Even’s smile was gleaming, though, so.

He scoots up a little further on Isak’s chest to see him properly, hover above him with their noises grazing. “I think… your dad, probably, right? How you can't figure out why he called you? Like, if he needed something, it would have come up a lot sooner?”

Isak gave him a disbelieving stare, taking a moment to huff before sinking his head into the pillow.

“The fuck. You're psychic.” He giggled. Even smiled right back, leaning down to plant a wet kiss on his cheek.

Apparently, he'd meant going to the diner _right then_ though. It's not like Isak's objecting, hell no – it just took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out why Even decided they were going on a walk on a Wednesday night. He doesn't mention it out loud, because there's exactly no way he'd live that down. 

It was about halfway there (after much conversation about _i'll leave in the morning if you need time to, i didn't really ask if could stay _and _Even, you're not leaving. please do not leave_ ) that his boyfriend went suspiciously quiet for a few moments.__

__“You good?” Isak asked quietly, bumping Even’s elbow with his own._ _

__“I don’t really wanna… take meds anymore,” Even sighs out, hands stuffed further into his pockets like he’s expecting to be chastised._ _

__“...Why’s that?” Isak asks lightly. Or, at least, he _goes_ for lightly. Even shrugs in return as he looks at his shoes._ _

__“I’ve just… I know that _I’m_ supposed to be the one to make myself better, that the meds are just supposed to keep me from getting worse, but it just seems… I don’t like that I have to supply my brain with all the things it’s just _supposed_ to have. Taking them makes me feel defective, or something. And I know that I’m increasing my risk of having an episode again, and cutting myself off can give me serious problems, but… to me, it’s kind of worth it? At least I’m not making myself something I’m not? I’d rather feel I’m dead for a few weeks every so often than just… never feel low again. It takes away from you, y’know?”_ _

__“I do know,” Isak affirms. He reaches out to tug at Even’s forearm, linking their fingers together as they walk along. He can hear Even sigh heartily. “That’s a decision you have to make on your own. But… I’m here for you. Like, whatever you decide to do, I’ll go with you.”_ _

__“What if, like,” He can hear Even mask a lame laugh as he starts, “What if I suddenly want to take us to Moscow, and I propose to you while we’re down there? I’m completely off my rocker and everything, and you know it, but you go along with it. What’d happen?”_ _

__“If you proposed to me, or if we went to Moscow?” Isak chuckles. Even huffs a laugh before answering,_ _

__“If I want to take you away from here.”_ _

__Isak makes a very conscious decision to keep his face level right then, looking out beyond them in contemplation before his lips are just. Moving._ _

__“Remember when I told you to just think about things a minute at a time? Just, y’know, like… worry about the next sixty seconds. And then once those are over, you only have sixty more to worry about.” He said, waiting for Even to nod along before he continued. “Why don’t we do that together. Just live in this minute so that you won’t have time to think about things like that.”_ _

__Even was quiet for a long time after that; his fingers gently flexing against Isak’s own as the only reminder he’d even known Isak was there with him. He watched the cracks in the sidewalk as they walked along, hardly peeking next to him until --_ _

__“And remember after that, when I said that you keep taking away all my reasons to be sad?” He murmured. A little smile played on his lips when Isak squinted teasingly at him._ _

__“You do that to me all the time, too.”_ _

____

***

_**Dad** (08:14) Isak, I’ve called you several times already  
 _ **Dad** (08:14) If I get another call from your school that you’ve missed class, I’ll be contacting Olsen that you’ve gone missing  
 ___ **Dad** (08:15) We need to talk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if not for some key people, this may not have happened for another month. hopefully you know who you are. 
> 
> on another note... next chapter will either be Tuesday or Thursday. <3


	20. XX (and the highway signs say we're close)

When Isak wakes up, it’s no question. There’s nothing to consider, no desire to. He swipes the notifications from his father away from his screen in hopes of seeing something, _anything,_ from Even, because--

Well, yeah, he’s _gone._

Isak’s not sure how to comprehend the situation at first, let alone try and do anything about it. He thought they were solid, that Even would have no reason, no _want_ to leave. His jacket is still strewn over the floor, shoes tucked away in the corner, yet his phone is completely missing and it almost looks like he was never here at all.

Isak swallows the stone building in his throat, rolling off the mattress and tugging longer sleeves down his arms before pulling his bedroom door open. His thumbs are dialing Even’s number before he makes it through the arch,ready to rap his knuckles against Eskild’s door to see if he’s heard anything, but it’s quickly followed by--

What?

Isak wrinkles his brow. Takes another step forward. And. Someone is cooking. 

He slides his nose around the corner to see if he can tell if it’s Eskild -- if it’s Linn, he won’t bother her, but. Maybe she saw Even. Maybe she tried to stop him. Maybe -- 

He does not see Isak. White t-shirt, black sweats and a hand flitting through the spice rack, Even’s leaning over the stove with the fan rustling his hair a tad as he shifts around. Something’s popping in the skillet. The dome light is making his skin a little jaundice. And Isak’s breath has never been heavier leaving his lungs.

This is the third time in the last month Even’s mere _existence_ seemed to coat him in this lacquer burning _i don’t want to let go,_ and quite honestly, Isak’s had enough of making himself. His own socked feet slide silently over the linoleum (or at least in comparison to whatever sizzling concoction’s going on over the stove) as he moves behind Even, sliding his arms around the other boy’s diaphragm and pulling them close together. He presses his nose into Even’s atlas when he feels him inhale a little sharply.

Other than that, Even doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t react beyond settling back comfortably into the touch.

And then Isak’s mouth is moving without permission.

“You scared me,” He mumbles into the skin, arms tightening around Even’s middle as the other boy stills slightly against him. Isak notices his arms quit, like, folding eggs, or whatever he’s doing, and he twists himself slightly to try and get a better look at Isak.

“Did you…” He starts slowly, Isak can feel him swallowing, “Did you actually think I left?”

Isak shrugs. “I don’t know what I thought.”

He can feel Even grimace as the muscles in his neck pull. He makes a little clicking noise in the back of his throat as he twists a little tougher against Isak, forcing the younger boy to let him turn around in his arms. Isak opens his mouth to apologize, but Even beats him to the punch (a little literally) as he slinks down a little to grip at the underside of Isak’s thighs. Isak lets out a gasp he’s not even sure he can _call_ a gasp, but--

Even’s whirling them around to place Isak on the slice of counter between the stove and cabinetry, ignoring the cold sting of the plaster through Even’s fingers (still lingering. listen. Isak’s in his boxers, his boyfriend’s hands are riding up the back of his thighs, it’s a lot to process) as he gets pulled a little closer. 

The switch in Isak’s brain is flickered to life again when he glances up to meet Even’s eyes, which. A lot more is happening in his gaze than Isak anticipated, and it makes his breath lock up in his throat. His icy blue eyes are guarded, something nervous festering deep. 

The breath seizes when Isak’s brain immediately makes him think he’s about to be chastised, that he’s done something wrong, this is his fault, Even’s _upset,_

“Hey, look at me,” He hears, Even’s soft voice tripping over his own breathing falters. 

“I’m sorry--”

“I’d be scared if you had left too, it’s okay. Isak?” Even bends down to try and catch his gaze again, bringing them back to eye level. “I was just in here making breakfast. I’m not leaving, okay? Never. What can I do to make you believe me?”

It’s-- something changes right then. It’s subtle, he’s not even sure he was supposed to recognize it, but Even suddenly feels how tight Isak’s fingers are folding into the hem of his shirt. It makes his throat tighten enough to keep him from speaking, but it’s _fine,_ because Isak doesn’t answer for long enough that Even becomes concerned.

It’s by pulling Even closer to his chest, feebly wrapping his arms around his shoulders and muttering, “Be there when I wake up,” into his collarbone. And maybe he’ll never say it, he’s not sure Isak would want to hear it, but going from flinching away at the wave of an arm to willingly pulling another person into contact, a _lot_ of contact, tucking them together from neck to waist… it sort of amazes Even every day. Maybe he’ll never say it, but…

As either of them feel the other smile against their skin, maybe it’s all they need.

__

***

Following Even’s heated efforts to get Isak to go to school (not _heated_ like _angry,_ heated like… hot), Isak was drawing his scarf further up over his chin as he crossed the street into the bitter winter frost. Nissen was… it really wasn’t that far, but the walk was worsened by the fucking windchill making his ears feel like they were _falling off,_ which was _unfortunate_ because he needed to make a _fucking_ phone call.

Speaking of.

“So, uh,” Isak starts, his chin chattering against the receiver. “I…”

“Do you want to meet up, maybe?” Lea asked softly, but Isak shook his head.

“I can’t today. I wanted to talk to you about something, though? Just to make my walk faster and get them out of the way and stuff,” Isak said, hiking up the scarf again. Who cared if his voice was fuzzy on the other end of the line.

“...Sure?” Lea exhaled. She sounded like she was only half in the conversation, which was. Always encouraging. 

“Um. I… can’t move in with you. Or anything like that.”

That seemed to make her perk up. “Wait, what? Isak--”

“I need to stay with Even right now? For both of our sakes, I think. It just seems like a bad idea.” He said, rounding a corner so that the courtyard was now in his sights. 

“...Isak,” Lea sighed heavily, sending an uncomfortable spark down Isak’s spine. She sounded _so_ much like their mother. It was almost too much. “Are you… I think you might be a little too attached to him, given how long you’ve known him?”

That made him stop. “Excuse me?”

“You just-- you told me everything that’s happened between you guys, sure, and while it can be intense and great to be connected like that, it’s only been a couple of months, and I don’t think it’s smart to make him--”

“Stop. Stop,” Isak cut her off sharply. It took a lot of energy for Isak not to react poorly -- no part of him was interested in getting into an argument with his sister, let alone this early in the morning, let alone about _Even._ It just wasn’t happening. “Just… don’t, Lea. I can’t move in with you.”

“...Are you sure?” Lea sighed again, and Isak was a lot closer to hanging up on this than he first realized. 

“I’m sure. I have this figured out for now. I appreciate the gesture and stuff, but it’s not gonna happen. Even if Even _wasn’t_ a part of my life, I don’t think I could do it. I don’t think it’s smart to… give someone a reason to connect us, y’know?”

“What, like dad? Isak, I’m not sc--”

“Actually, that was another reason why I was calling you.” He swallowed, pulling himself up against the chain link fence. There was a few minutes before he needed to head inside. If he was saying it-- “Dad texted me this morning. I didn’t answer him, I didn’t want to or have the time, but I figured… like, that might be pertinent.”

“You _figured?”_ She hissed, and suddenly there was a lot more movement on her end of the receiver. “Were you thinking about _not_ telling me? Isak, what--”

“Yes, I was going to tell you! Why are you so mad? It’s not like -- he won’t show up at Nissen, and even if he does, I can handle it? It’s not a big deal?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” She scoffed haughtily. “Nothing _will_ happen because I’m going there to make sure nothing even _could_ happen. Not on my watch.” There was another shuffling, and then the sound of a door slamming. Isak flinched away from the receiver reflexively, not even deciding it was worth it to berate himself. Whatever. 

“Lea, you’re not coming to Nissen,” He said, walking through the gap in the fence to walk through the courtyard. “I can handle myself.”

It took a moment. Maybe fifteen or twenty for Isak to realize that the silence on her end wasn’t her thinking of a way to snap back, but… because it was making her point. It seemed to jam itself in the underside of his jaw: Lea still sees Isak as an eight year old boy, one who couldn’t fend for himself even _if_ his life depended on it. Sure, they’d only known each other for a couple weeks now, but…

Damn. That stung. 

And then it burned. 

Who was _she_ to determine how much Isak’s grown up, how much better he’s gotten since she left? Who was she to assume nothing had changed? Sure, nothing had really started to take motion until these last few months, but what the _fuck._

The thumb in his jaw digs further as it hits him that Lea wants him to move in so that she can _shield_ him. 

_Or,_ a worse scab is opened, _she’s still plotting with dad._

Isak sighs into the receiver before gently pulling it from his cheek to end the call, Lea never making a sound to stop him.

Was it terrible to suddenly wish she’d never revealed herself?

__

***

Isak barely wastes a moment once his classes are out to see how Even’s doing. Something pricked in his mind about what Lea said, but it was quickly thrown away when Even answered on the second ring.

“I’m so glad you called,” Even said, and maybe the prick Isak felt was Even leaving perforations in his heart. If he didn’t sound a little breathless, Isak would have passed it off.

“Why, what’s up?” He tried lightly, but Even’s audible swallow seemed to suck it out of the air.

“So, um,” He swallowed again. “Your social worker called. Eskild didn’t tell me what was going on, only to stay in your room and stuff, but I can hear him running all over the apartment. Do you know what’s going on?”

Okay, well, fuck that. Isak’s blood runs colder than the air around him, almost making him trip over his own ankle as he fumbled down the sidewalk. It doesn’t take another second for his legs to kick into gear and start racing back towards the kollektivet. 

“How fast can you, like, get presentable?” Isak rushed. “LIke, shower and stuff?”

“Isak, what’s going on?”

“So, like,” Isak panted, “If my social worker is showing up, that means someone _contacted_ her and told her something was wrong, because otherwise she _tells me_ she’s gonna randomly drop by,” He waved his hand flippantly as though Even could see him. For a few moments, Even only clung to the silence on the line, and Isak was actually convinced he’d just hung up until Even lets out a small hum of thought. “I’ll be there soon, yeah?”

And he was, actually. He dropped his bag at his desk and took off his shoes to look a little more like he belonged there before running out to see what Eskild had been taking care of. The only real comfort the scene provided him was the ringing of the shower behind the kitchen wall. 

“Even tell you?” Eskild asked, rolling down the sleeves of his shirt. Isak nodded, ready to ask what Olsen had said on the phone when Eskild beat him to it. “All she said was that she needs to review some things with us, I don’t know what that means. She wouldn’t tell me on the phone.”

“Fuck,” Isak sighed. “Fuck. Well. I guess… so, you should know right now that my dad’s been contacting me, like, last night and this morning?” Eskild’s shoulders stiffening was all Isak’s throat needed to close up. “It might have something to do with that. I don’t know.”

Even’s wearing one of the shirts Isak wears loose on purpose, just to make it seem… well, Isak couldn’t place it. But he was a fan. He’d approached Isak with an expression impossible to gage, pruned fingers coming up to thumb at his cheek. It was like he _knew_ Isak’s blood pressure had skyrocketed. Like he _knew_ his presence would calm the younger boy down some. Whatever. He was taking it. 

When the doorbell rings, everyone just kind of… stops. 

That’s it. That’s kind of it. Linn’s eyes slowly move from the television to the door, Eskild’s hip against the archway into the kitchen suddenly seizing not unlike the air in Isak’s lungs. That’s it. Then there’s movement -- Eskild’s sock clad feet shifting over the carpet until he swings the door open.

“Hello,” She breathes out. Isak knows what kind of tone that is -- she’s trying to keep from bursting. He can’t even see the woman and he can feel the tension radiating through the air. Apparently Even can, too, if the way his fingers loosely travel over to Isak’s means anything. 

Olsen’s heels are snuffed out against the carpet. There’s nothing but a padded _tamp_ whenever she takes a step inside, meeting everyone’s individual gaze before locking on Even for a moment too long. Something in her lip blanched then, head clicking back forward almost robotically as she greeted Eskild again. 

“What can I help you with?” Eskild tries nicely. “You seemed concerned on the phone, but I wasn’t given any details about your visit?”

“Yes,” Olsen exhales. “Yes. Well, you see, Isak’s parents… because he’s not 18 yet and they still have legal custody of him, they have a right to know his whereabouts if he’s staying outside the home.”

Well. 

Even grips his fingers a little tighter, their hands locked behind Isak’s hip from where he sits on the arm of the sofa. Isak looks down at him, settled as far back into the cushion as he could casually look, to where his mouth is pressed into a thin line. His eyes are flitting around Isak’s face like he’s not supposed to be looking. He hates that feeling.

He can guess that Even knew how his guts twisted hot and fearful at Olsen’s tone, but he… why was he looking at Isak like that?

“Surely you can understand that the point of Isak being here is to keep him _away_ from his parents?” Eskild asked, wringing his wrists. Olsen nodded minutely.

“That’s… exactly why I’m here, um… I know this isn’t exactly ethical, given my practice, but I’ll be damned if Isak’s parents get ahold of him again. I wanted to come here before his parents’ scheduled visit to see if we could come up with an alternative plan about Isak’s whereabouts.” She said it quickly, quietly, like she was afraid someone was listening in.

Isak knew he always liked Olsen. Fuck. He lets out a noisy exhale of relief, at which she gives him a small smile. “We need to work quickly, unfortunately -- it’s past 16:00 now and I said I would meet with them at 18:30.”

“Easy,” Even’s voice jarred Isak slightly, at which the older boy gave his hand a firm squeeze. “We say he’s at my house. My mom won’t care, she wants to adopt him as it is already. There won’t be anyone there right around then either, it should be totally clear for them to pick apart.”

“How do we explain--” Eskild started, but Even knew where he was at.

“Isak and I go to Nissen, we’re friends, I was driving home when I saw him walking around and he’s been staying with me ever since. Here, do you want me to call my mom and see if everyone’s out right now?” He said, sitting up a little better to pull his phone from his pocket. Isak could only stare back a little slack-jawed, the only place he could feel the blood in his body focused in the grip Even had on him. 

Olsen seemed taken aback as well.

“I… is that wise?” She said, moving forward to sit on the loveseat adjacent to them. “It’s not a bad idea at all, Even, but I’d hate for you to put yourself at risk like this?” 

“Risk?” Even quirked an eyebrow, and he saw Olsen’s eyes move purposefully, slowly, to where their hands were clasped. All Even could do was shrug. “It’s not… I’m not worried about that. We’re fine. He won’t find out.”

“Where would Isak be staying in your house?” She pressed. Even’s thumb paused over the dial pad as he met her gaze. “Just… downstairs. There’s a bedroom down there. I live upstairs.”

“How will we get his stuff there?” She looked down to her clipboard, pulling a pen out to start writing something on whatever paperwork she held. If Isak’s mouth would _fucking move,_ he’d try to explain that he already has some things there, that all it would take is his laptop and his backpack to make it look convincing. 

Something sour unfurled in his stomach before Olsen could put his same thoughts on the table. 

“Will you be there?” She asked, raising a delicately plucked brow. Isak could only fucking pray Even would say no, that Even would realize how dangerous this was, realize why Isak had to leave them and then he’d--

“Yeah, sure,” Even nodded, putting his phone to his ear.


	21. XXI (don't tell them anything, anything, please)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments mean everything to me. 
> 
> this week was tough in all the wrong ways -- hearing from you guys gave me some of the only positivity I've seen or felt in the last ten days. thank you so so so much. <3

Isak's never done this before, actually.

He'd been bowled over the bathroom sink with a unzipped jacket over his head, backpack slouched low on his back and knees feeling horribly close to giving out beneath him. There's wasn't -- he couldn't handle this. He'd gathered these things together in moments where his body moved autonomously from his mind, pulling his shoes over his heels when he'd felt the rug burns on his knuckles. Or. Fabric burns. Whatever.

Hence, the sink. Warm water and disinfectant over each scrape of raw flesh, where the skin's peeled away most often by force. It'd been maybe eight or nine minutes with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, left wrist cracking with every bend. Only pruning on the pads of his fingers could tell him how long he'd been there.

Well, that is, until a quiet knock on a wedged door interrupted the dissociative state he'd been in since _"Yeah, sure."_

"Can I come in?" The same voice says softly. It's weird, because he's kind of already _in_ the bathroom. The door wasn't really closed, and it's not like knocking on it _closed it,_ so. Isak makes brief eye contact with Even's reflection before he nods once. "You almost ready? Olsen's sor--"

"Sure," Isak's voice comes out much weaker than he means for it to, but there's no going back now. He elbows the faucet to shut off the water, moving to grab a paper towel when he hears--

"Geeze, how hot was that water? Your hands are steaming," Even tries to laugh, but it's muddled by concern. Isak furrows his brow, shrugs, grabs the paper towels. "Are you... do you need, like, bandages or anything? That looks like it hurts."

Like he doesn't already know it does. 

And now Isak's here, and... he can't say he's ever imagined someone else doing this for him. They didn't really go far, like, _here_ is still the bathroom counter, but now he's perched atop it with his shoulders against the wall as Even stands in front of him. His hands are out, palms twisting over as Even asks him to, and. Like. Something in the pit of Isak's stomach knows this is weirdly intimate, that it should be monumental to him (or maybe to Petersen) that he's allowed someone, _Even,_ not just someone, close enough to do this. 

But it just feels so normal. Like Even does this three or four times a week already, like he's already seen the most tumultuous parts of--

Okay, well. Maybe he has. But maybe never to the point that he's examined the external manifestation of it like this.

The gauze tape is tight around his fingers, but he likes it that way, doesn't say anything otherwise when Even asks if it's okay like that. He gives Even a small smile, tries to convey in it that this is weirdly meaningful to him in a way he's not quite sure he'll ever have the words for.   
Even's face lights up with recognition. Isak sees the face he first met following Even's hospitalization for a moment, but it's quickly replaced with a shy smile of his own that's followed with a hand on Isak's knee and another on his cheek. Even's lips are dry and warm against his own, and it stays like that as the kiss drags on for longer than they mean for, but, like. Isak would definitely take that feeling over the chill that fills his lungs the moment Even pulls away. 

"You ready?" He asks, eyes bluer than the fucking ocean and a hand held out. Isak nods.

__

***

"Can we talk more when we get there? It seems kind of pointless to--"

"Yes, of course," Olsen stops him, nodding along as she pulls her hair into a neat bun. "I'll follow you there -- you have a car, yes?"

"Yes."

And it's _in that car,_ in the same Solara that featured a moment of bravery Isak _still_ can't explain all this time later, that he's never felt farther from his body. 

Even drives a little slower than normal. Isak's mind tries to supply it with, _he wants to talk to you about this, he wants you to start the conversation, he needs you to say something, just--_

He forces a hand from his own lap to reach across the console and weakly paw at the crook of Even's elbow. Something serpentine festers behind his diaphragm, like it decided its own venom stung its gums. Like it wanted anything other than to be dealing with the pain, and... Isak could relate. Even's fingers tangle with his own while he tries to name the cobra, but he can't settle on it, he just. He looks to Even, who spares him a glance away from the dimly lit backroads. 

"I'm scared," is what Isak says first, even though it was probably meant to be the last. "I'm scared, fuck. Fuck. I know he can't hurt me, like, logically there's no way he'll do that in front of Olsen, but I don't know what's about the fucking happen and I'm scared, Even?"

If Even's morphing expressions offer Isak any kind of answers to that, it's that Even's too good for this fucking world. He goes from terrified to concerned in a flash second, understanding in the next, but Isak can't make his mouth quit now. "I'm scared he won't believe what we're trying to set up, I'm scared he'll make me go back home, I just-- I'm scared of you meeting him, I don't want you to meet them, I don't--"

"Isak," Even says evenly, effectively silencing his tirade. "Isak, you're--"  
His hand comes up to Isak's face right then, swiping a calloused thumb under his eye. Isak blinks, hadn't even known there were tears. "You're panicking? You're having a panic attack."

"How do I--"

"You're okay," Even breathes, tugging on Isak's hand to hold is against his chest. "You're okay. You're just freaked out. Can you feel my heart? Can you count the beats, maybe focus on that for a minute?"

Isak's dumb fucking brain makes him want to say something like _yeah, but I couldn't a couple weeks ago,_ but he remarkably bites it back. Takes breaths in time with Even's, just... tries to do what he asked.

It works until they get there, somehow. Isak’s not going to claim he was completely okay by the time Even’s car pulled to a stop. Not even as he unlocked the front door, gestured for Isak to start making himself at home in his bedroom, which he took gratefully.

Isak decides he doesn’t hear anything Olsen’s saying to Even. Her voice travels through the gap in the door, but he just… he can’t let himself focus on it. Instead focuses on replacing everything on the desk with his own (mostly just layering it on top), scrambling Even’s blankets a little and taking off his shoes. He sheds his own worn jacket and replaces it with one of Even’s (who fucking cares at this point, like.... Like if Isak can surround himself with one of the few things he lets himself take comfort in, even if the thing isn’t spotless and smells like Even’s shampoo, he’s wearing it. Not like his dad will say anything). 

He’s picking up the photos around the room when he sees one of Even and a guy with longer, dark hair he’s never seen before, and while something in his mind wonders who this is, it’s completely shadowed by the thought that he’d do anything to keep Even from meeting his parents, but. He doesn’t get that choice now, apparently. Sure, it probably would have happened someday, but in a far more controlled environment and a time when they no longer had any legal connections to him. Not such a high-stakes -- 

He takes a moment to consider if he should roll the sleeves down to cover the bandages, but he doesn’t get the opportunity before he hears a disjointed _”Isak!”_ from the gap between his ears and where he thinks his brain actually is right then.

“Isak!” He hears again, actually recognizing it as Olsen’s voice as forces his feet forward. He sort of stumbles through the door again, swinging the hood over his head as he rounds into the kitchen. Even’s eyeing him confusedly from where he’s leaning against the counter, Olsen at the opposite with a frustrated crease in her brow peeking over her glasses. Isak can feel himself break into a cold sweat, but. Nothing could be wrong. There could just be a question about, like -- nothing could be wrong, right?

“How much, uh,” Olsen coughs into her fist, giving him a closed stare over the lenses. He couldn’t break eye contact if he wanted to. “How much does Even _know_ about what’s happened between you and your parents?” 

Oh, fuck.

Uh. _Fuck._

He can’t even try to play dumb, knows exactly what she’s talking about. “I don’t… talk about it,” He says quietly. Even knows the ins and outs of nearly all his problems with his parents, sure, but that doesn’t mean he knows about--

Olsen pinches the bridge of her nose, frowns before turning back to Even. 

“Okay, well, I’m not going to step in the middle of that. Just, um. Don’t touch Isak for the time his parents are here, okay? I don’t care what happens, I don’t care how stressed out anyone becomes, even if-- just don’t grab at him. We’re not going to give them anything more than what they need to know, or what’ll satisfy them, or--”

“Are both of them coming?” Isak asks sharply, drawing both of their eyes back toward him. Olsen looks down at her clipboard. 

“It-- my notes say it’s both of them, so I’d imagine so? Does that change things?”

“I…” _Don’t want Even to meet them._ “I guess not.”

She nods, gives them a few words about how to prepare, before glancing stiffly at her watch and saying she’ll be back in forty minutes. 

__

***

Isak knows good and well that Even is far more than curious about what Olsen was referring to, but he lets the silence sit between them again. He can’t imagine even approaching the subject. It was with anyone, it _would_ be with Even. But it’s just not.

Instead, as he and Even sit next to each other at the bar in the kitchen, in the same spot where Nina held him in a conversation in the predawn hours, he slides an arm across the countertop to hook a finger between the ones Even’s picking at. 

He stops almost immediately, casting a sideways glance to Isak as he entangles their fingers. Gingerly. 

He wants to explain.

“Every so often,” Isak’s mouth starts, “Well, okay. My mom’s developed a habit of texting me prayers I can only imagine the relevance of. She’s always been… pretty spiritual. She hung one in the kitchen, uh…” He gestured to the open air in front of them.

“I— I can barely remember it, it… It talked about how ‘the mouth of the wicked conceals violence’ or whatever. Like you’re inherently terrible for being unable to talk about what’s happened. Like God doesn’t, fucking, I don’t know, they don’t… God doesn’t get that sometimes that talking about those things can inflict worse harm.

“I think that’s one of the reasons I’m not too keen on religion. Like… good for the people that are, y’know? I’ve just seen the bitterest parts of it for so long that, like… I can’t—“

“It’s okay,” Even whispers, closing the faucet with a squeeze to Isak’s hand. It doesn’t hurt. “Me too. I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“What?” Isak says, is met with another squeeze to the hand. “How— uh, I. Okay. I’m gonna tell you something, and you don’t have to reply, I… like, I almost don’t want you to.”

Even swallows, Isak’s eyes tracking the movement of his adam’s apple. Even swivels his body out on the stool, pulling on Isak’s hand to make them face each other, knees pressed together. He collects Isak’s hand between his two, sets them in his lap. “Okay. I have something to tell you, too.”

Isak nods, let’s out a long exhale before meeting Even’s eyes again.

“My dad did a lot worse than physically beat me.”

He sees Even’s pupils dilate for a moment and Isak can almost _feel_ the hole tearing in Even’s stomach. Instead, Even shakes head slowly, looks down at their palms. He can see Even open his mouth to get it out, whatever it is, when—

It has to be that moment that the doorbell rings, because Isak’s _life,_ man. Fuck. Even’s eyes give him a glance he probably wasn’t meant to see, something like terror flooding them as he leans in to whisper against Isak’s cheek, “I need to tell you something, too. Don’t let me forget.”

Even leaves him there to digest everything (he probably needs to do the same, honestly) as he moves swiftly for the front door. 

It’s probably for the better that he hears everyone before he sees them. He also hears the exact moment Even stops breathing, because he _knows_ he just put together a couple things, and _this_ is why he didn’t want them to meet. 

Isak twists his head up to see his mother, significantly better kept than he’s seen her in years, standing at the open entrance to the kitchen. Her eyes are bright and clear, arms tucked neatly overtop each other across her stomach. Isak sees a lot of Lea in her gaze. 

His father and Olsen are sharing words in the house’s entryway when Even reappears to shuffled around his mother, smiling meagerly at her before he looks back to Isak with concern coloring his features. 

“Hey,” Even says softly, sitting down next to him again and hooking their ankles together underneath the bar where you’d have to move behind them to see the contact. Isak gives him a practiced smirk like he would around Jonas, an expression he’s used to placating people with if he’s perfectly honest, but Even sees right through him. Still, it’s easy enough for Even to match him right away with a similar facade. “I didn’t know you looked so much like your mom,” He continues.

Isak shrugs, pulls his lips in to purse them. “Yeah, I got that a lot as a kid.”

“He still does,” Marianne offers, her voice making both of them jolt a little. Even’s ankle tugs on his. “That was the first things Ms. Olsen had said, as well.”

“Said what?” Olsen echoes as her heels create a wake in the floor. Marianne turns to the side to allow them a better view of the kitchen, where Olsen sidesteps her neatly to walk around the side of the island closest to Isak and Even and lean against the counter of the bar. 

Isak leans up a little, rests his elbows on the counter beside Olsen as his father enters the kitchen. Like the sound of his steps hadn’t made his blood freeze in his veins. Like it didn’t make his joints ache to see the frown lines carved into the man’s chin. 

“Oh,” Marianne smiles as his father places a hand on the small of her back. “How Isak’s always looked a little too much like his mother.”

“Acts like her, too,” His father winks, making Isak’s joints _really_ freeze up. Even can feel it, runs the top of his foot against the back of Isak’s calf. “So… this is where you’re staying?” 

It takes a moment or ten for anyone else to speak, because Isak can’t get his jaw to unlock to save his life. His eyes dart to Even when he says, “Yeah?”

His father’s eyes become sharp at Even’s tone, quickly trying to erase his glare with a sigh as he looked back to Isak. Fuck. _Fuck._

“Yes,” Olsen smiled politely. “Yes, Isak’s been staying here for some time now. What would you guys like to--”

“Where are your parents?” His father says quickly, eyeing Even again. “Aren’t they meant to be here for this visit, for us to meet and see if this is suitable for our son?”

Isak’s eyes couldn’t help but track the movement of the muscles clenching in Even’s jaw as he moved to sit up a little straighter, linking their ankles together properly. “They’re running a little late. My mother had to pick up my little sister from work, they should be here shortly. I’m sure I can help you with whatever you need to know, though? I live here, too.”

It was… probably the most composed, weirdly professional tone he’d ever heard his boyfriend use, and, uh. Uh. Even weirder was that his dad had fallen quiet to the tone as well. 

It took him a moment to wipe the surprise from his forehead, but Isak’s father did address him again. “Surely, then. Can you tell me why I’ve been getting so many calls recently about Isak missing his classes, and inevitably his coursework?”

Even balked, which Isak found more than appropriate. Not like he should have the answer to that in any other given situation. He opened and closed his mouth like he knew what he _wanted_ to say to them, but. But.

“The school sends out those calls automatically,” Olsen supplied. Even seemed to take a sigh of relief from beside him. “Even if Isak’s late for something and he’s marked absent, the call already goes out. There’s not that much that can be done about it.”

“Why are you so consistently late to class then, son? This never happened when you were at home with us?” _You know who else talks like that?_ the worst parts of Isak’s mind niggled. _Your sister._

“I got sick,” Isak said, not even knowing _he_ had said it until all eyes turned to him. _If there was ever a moment to shrivel up and die,_ Isak thought, _it’s right fucking now._ “Yeah, I… I don’t spend a lot of time here because I don’t wanna impose. Jonas and I are at the skate park a lot, and with the weather… Yeah.”

“What?” His father furrowed his brow. “Are you doing something to make my son feel unwelcome?” He snapped his eyes back to Even, who… Froze, understandably. It was minute. Like. Isak wasn’t even sure it had happened, but there was a stillness. Even shook his head slowly.

“No, my... my parents make an effort to make him feel at home. There’s just a lot of people in our house, I’d feel the same if I were in Isak’s shoes.” He shrugged, trying to look honest. His father narrowed his eyes. 

“A lot of people?” He spoke, and Isak _knew_ he was just looking for reasons to get into Even’s head. He wasn’t about to put up with that. “As in…?” 

“As in my parents, me, and my younger siblings? It’s not that crowded. We’re barely ever home at the same time. If we are, it’s… we all fit, it’s fine.”

“How many siblings do you have, er… Even, right?” Alright, well. Isak had been through enough therapy to recognize mind games. It’s a dehumanizing tactic to pretend you’ve forgotten someone’s name, as if to try and show them how little they matter. He’d seen it enough. And as if that question wasn’t a sore thumb to begin with. Isak coughed into his elbow, drawing his parents’ gaze again momentarily. 

He’d use it. “What did you guys come here for, again? I don’t know how knowing how many siblings Even has is e--”

“We weren’t speaking to you, were we?” His mother arched her brows inward to feign confusion. Jesus. He’d almost forgotten how bad that hurt. 

“Isak can speak,” Even shrugged. He turned his head to look at Isak. “I mean, this visit’s about him, isn’t it?”

“Isak, he…” His father bit at his lip. “He has a propensity for lying to his family, we don’t feel that--”

“When?” Isak furrowed his brow to… well, honestly, he was just mocking his mom. He didn’t feel bad. They couldn’t hurt him in here, and he was tired of this shit. “When have I ever lied to you when it wasn’t to keep myself safe?”

“Keep yourself _safe?”_ His father echoed in a scoff. “Isak, surely you know that your behavior wasn’t--”

“Perfectly… normal?” Isak cut him off. He was shaking, sure, but he wasn’t really that scared of these people. He father raised his eyebrows, a little shocked, maybe more like he knew Isak knew not to do that. That Isak _should know better_ than to talk back to his parents. That he’ll pay for it later. That’s what that expression meant. He’d. Seen it. Enough. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Why are you guys here?”

“We just don’t think it’s safe for you to be away from us, where your parents can’t take care of you,” His mother offered, her arms tightening around herself. “You’re just a child, Isak. We don’t want you to turn out like your sister. You’re better than that.”

_More obedient than that._ The fuck. “You mean Lea?” 

“Yes, Lea,” His mother sighed. The Lea that hid herself for months, who never intended to reveal herself to Isak, who is doing something she thinks he can’t pick up. Something with their fucking parents, probably. Bringing it up here would be foolish, but… Isak almost can’t help it. He bites his tongue anyway. 

“I think… I think everyone here knows Isak and Lea are very different people,” Olsen said evenly, tone never wavering as she set her clipboard back on the bar behind them, just to the left of Isak. “Is there anything I can show you here? It quite sounds like you two are prodding where it’s inappropriate for this visit. Even’s family deserves their privacy. You’re only here for your son, yes?”

“My…” His father swallowed. “My son, yes. Yes.”

What?

Isak wanted to prod. Oh, _jesus,_ did he want to prod. But he didn’t get the chance before Even misstepped. 

His boyfriend moved to stand up as if to excuse himself or something, clicking his tongue as he shifted to the left to move off the stool, but — his hand moved outward, pressing a gentle palm between Isak’s shoulder blades. Which. Seemed to spark the interest of his mother, just like Olsen had said it —

“What are you doing?” Marianne’s voice bounced off the kitchen walls, apparently scandalized. Even jolted, seeming to realize his mistake, and shot an apologetic glance at Isak, who, uh. Couldn’t do much but shrug. He didn’t _want_ this to unfold. He couldn’t say he didn’t know what was going to happen here. But he… he couldn’t be afraid right here. It’s like he never knew how. 

“He’s fine,” Isak shrugged, because it was the truth. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“It— doesn’t bother you?” She looked shocked, like nothing could have been farther from the truth. “Even after—”

“We don’t talk about that,” Isak said curtly. A little too sharply for his mother, and way too far gone for his father. He chanced a look at Even, who… he’s putting the pieces together. Again. “We… we don’t have to.”

Even shoots him a glance that Isak can’t decode before his father’s gruff voice is stilling them both.

“Good,” His father says lowly. “It’s none of your friends’ concern what happens in our household.”

“It’s the government’s concern, apparently,” Even says, and… Isak can tell by the look on his father’s face that that comment was a mistake, but he can’t do much about it with a mandated reporter standing between them. “And I think you mean _your_ household, now. I’m not letting Isak go back with you.”

“You don’t know what’s best for our child, do you? He’s not your son, Even. He’s ours.” Marianne said dryly, tiredly. “And if we think—”

“You _just—_ Olsen, did he not just allude to the fact that he _beats_ Isak? Marianne, what were you going to say?” Even whipped out an arm towards her, and Isak saw his eyes widen when Isak flinched away from the corner of his gaze. Didn’t even blink. 

“I—”

“You were going to say something about when Lea had to go away, right? How badly you hurt us? About how I don’t like to be touched because it only ever meant something bad?” Isak tried, and, honestly. He wanted to note how brave this was. He _was_ thinking about it. He knew Even was too, if body language meant anything at all. 

His parents were frozen. His father’s jaw was slack open, like he couldn’t believe how bold, how _out of line_ his son was being. Olsen stood between them, looking back and forth like she couldn’t quite believe this whole — okay, realistically, Isak couldn’t either. He’s not really sure he’s ever maintained civil conversation this long with them, let alone had them be so open, let alone in front of his fucking _social worker._

“Who do you think you are, young man?” His father scoffed. Isak twisted out of the chair to stand with Even, hopefully to make himself appear a little more intimidating, but. Just. It was almost reflexive for either of them to hang on to the other at this point; not because they… they just _did._ So when Even’s hand once again caught the space between his shoulder blades as he stood up, he can’t necessarily say he was surprised when —

“What are you doing with your hands on our son?” Marianne snapped them, making them both jump. Isak couldn’t say he counted this out, but. Here we go. “Isak is very sensitive about being touched, he won’t let his own _mother_ touch him, what gives you the right to be able to-- to stick your hands all over him like you _own_ him?!” She stepped forward suddenly, and.

Looking back on it, Isak… probably understands it was the worst move he could have made here, but he couldn’t get himself to care then and he couldn’t get himself to care now. It was bound to happen at some point, and wh-- he’s glad Olsen was there. He’s just sad it had to happen in front of Even as well.

Isak had reached out to Even with the intention of pulling him backwards, or protecting him, or. Or… _something._ Even had gone to go the same, or something, it’s just. The way the situation landed. With Even standing behind him, arms looped over his chest while Isak pushed him behind him, hands on his hips, and it. 

Isak saw the moment it clicked in both of his parents’ eyes -- Olsen’s too. His father tilted his head a little bit, hissing out, “What’s… going on here?”

“Mr. Valtersen--”

_”Isak?”_

“I’m not coming home with you, okay?” Isak exhaled, bunching his fingers in the hem of Even’s shirt. “I’m _not._ If you… if you think it’s okay to talk to someone I love like he’s nothing, I’m… I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I don’t let you guys _fucking_ touch me because every time you do, it’s because you’re trying to break my bones. It’s because you’re trying to cut off my circulation or coerce me into doing something-- I just… did you know I can’t let anyone touch me now, because every touch only ever means something bad?”

His mother furrowed her brow like she was _actually_ confused, and something in it set Isak’s blood ablaze. “Yeah, no. Even can touch me because he knows what that _means._ There’s no--”

“Are you…” His mother swallowed. “You’re gay?”

“Jesus-- _yes_ I’m gay. I have been for a long time. The fact that _that_ is the only thing you’re taking away from what I just said, you’re proving my point. You guys don’t… No. No. Just leave, please. I’m not coming back with you. I don’t fucking care what the legal system says. _And,_ might I add, it’s not on your side with this situation. Olsen’s been _looking_ for reasons to get me away from you guys.”

“You’re… you’re gay.”

“Um--” Olsen suddenly chimed in again. She stepped between them, blocking Isak’s view of his parents. “I think.... I think our visit is over here. We should… meet back at my office in the morning, yes? Discuss where this is going.”

And… just like that.

That was it. 

No one said goodbyes. No one wanted to, it… Everyone retook the places they started in -- Even and Isak the only one’s left on the first floor. Even had moved around to his side, letting Isak’s fingers stay tangled in his shirt as he pulled him into his side. They both stared at the opening to the foyer, just beyond where they could see the door, sort of… there was discontent. 

Isak’s mind whirling. There was -- he couldn’t decide if that actually just happened. Everything. His mother spitting at Even, or his father borderline admitting to the abuse. His father alluding to what happened behind closed doors. Even standing up for him. Isak himself talking back to his parents. Did -- did he actually _talk back_ to his parents like that?

“Isak?” Even eventually whispered. “I… I’m not going to ask. I won’t. But I do have a different question for you, yeah?”

Isak lifted a brow, looking up to meet Even’s gaze. “Is this what you were gonna tell me earlier?”

“...No. We can talk about that in the morning. But… I don’t want you to go home either.” Even swallowed slowly. “I… stay here with me? Stay _here_ with me.”

“What are you talking about?” Isak said, moving around to stand in front of Even properly. The light from the kitchen defining the shadows on his face made him look weirdly wiser, not… not older. Just wiser. “Do you mean like--”

“We’re together all the time already, seeing you… Hearing you say that just now made me sure of one thing, and that’s that _this_ is a for sure thing. I’m not letting you go. I’m _not._ Stay here with me. Stay here.”


	22. XXII (babe, i don't wanna make a scene)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes hi guys
> 
> a lot of things kept me from updating (midterms, car got totaled, insurance problems, blah blah blah), but i'm not abandoning this, i promise. i'm also gonna reply to all your comments sometime over the course of this week?
> 
> also i really want you all to know how much your support on this, all your kind words and messages, have meant to me. i can't begin to articulate it. which is why i'm asking: if i started another fic (like a cheesy, upbeat, Bleachers-vibe, heart-eyes-motherfucker, enemies-to-lovers AU i've had trapped upstairs), would you all be interested?
> 
> happy halloween! <3

“Have you… Even?” Isak toes at his thigh, waits for the other boy to look up from his phone. Even’s got a crease between his brow Isak can’t exactly say he likes the look of, knows what that kind of expression means. When Even _does_ look up, the crease melts away easily into something more uniform, something… okay. Isak wants to let it go, normally would, but there’s something now that won’t let him. “Are you okay?”

“Just a weird message. What’s up?” 

“...You sure?” Isak tried to look sincere, because he _was,_ he just. Body language. Or whatever.

“It’s just an old friend,” Even shrugged, tossing his phone to the other cushion before picking his own knees up to the sofa and leaning into Isak’s, propping his chin atop them and winding his arms underneath his calfs. “What’s up?”

“I…” Isak shrugged. “Okay. I… How’re we gonna do this?” He scrunched his eyebrows, picking up a hand from his lap to comb back through Even’s bangs. “I know we talked about it and stuff, sure, but how—“

“Isak,” Even squeezes his arms around Isak’s calves. “Isak. Look at me. I wanna do this too, I really do, but I think we both have some reservations?” He raised an eyebrow. Isak shrugged weakly.

“Like… No, wait, wait,” Even scooted up a little further, pushing himself between Isak’s legs to lay on his stomach, tucking his arms under Isak’s shoulders. “Not because of you. I’d love to be able to really live with you. It’s not any of that _’too soon’_ shit, like… I really want to do this with you. I’m just worried about your _parents.”_

“I—“

“What if we get… like, we get this figured out. Have a weird little studio apartment with a freezer with no defrost and a balcony where we can forget to water the plants. It’s perfect. We have it. And then your parents… I don’t fucking know. They could just snatch you back up.” Even’s not really looking at Isak anymore, eyes focused somewhere along his jawline as he mumbles. 

“I haven’t heard from Olsen,” Isak offers, smoothing his hand through Even’s hair again. “I don’t know what’ll happen. Neither of my parents have tried to contact me, or Lea, or even Eskild, and… I dunno. Can we at least _try_ to look forward to that stuff, like… just for the sake of doing it?” Isak scrunched his nose. He kind of felt guilty for pushing this (especially when Even looks so small like this), but… 

When he met Even’s eyes again, there was confusion stringing his eyebrows together. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seeming like he didn’t really know how to-- “Even?”

“Why… why would you have heard from Lea?” He asked quietly, maybe a little nervously. There was good reason, too -- Isak’s breath seized in his lungs a little too sharply for Even not to notice. Fuck. _Fuck._ How did he let that fucking slip?

At that point, Isak knew it looked like he was trying to find a way to backpedal. His eyes darted around the room and he knew he felt incredibly stiff under Even, but he… if he _did_ tell the truth right here, would Even even believe him now that it looks like he’s been caught with some horrible secret?

Well, he kinda has been, but.

“Isak, you can tell me,” Even whispered, like he could read Isak’s fucking mind or something. “If there’s something going on, you can tell me. I’m just confused.”

Isak pinched his eyes shut as he swallowed, letting Even’s tone sink in before he opened his eyes to greet him again. 

“Bodil, the lady who leads the group thing, she’s… she’s Lea. She told me a few weeks ago. It’s-- I wasn’t keeping it from you to _keep it from you,_ seriously, I just--”

“Isak,” Even cuts in. “Isak, it’s okay. I… that’s gonna take my processing on my part, sure, but do not think for a second that I’m mad at you. It’s… that’s a heavy subject, and I feel like we should talk about it later? Right now…”

“The… moving in thing.” Isak said quietly, meeting Even’s gaze as he gave a little nod. “I don’t know. I don’t _know._ One part of me, the huge part, knows it would be okay. I don’t think my parents would come after me if they knew it was a bad idea, and I’m so close to being 18 that I think they’re just grasping at straws for the last bit of money they can squeeze out of me. In five months, it won’t matter.”

Even’s searching his face as he speaks, completely unreadable as Isak fusses with his hair further. “You think this is a good idea? Like, we’re 100% on this?”

“Yeah, yeah. I dunno. Everything else makes me so… it just makes me sick and uncomfortable to think about anything that isn’t right here. This is safe.” Isak shrugged again, dislodging Even a little. “I… I’m not really sure about anything that isn’t right here. Just you and me.”

Even’s smile made Isak’s cheeks warm, his own lips peel back into a soft grin as the other boy moved up further to press a small kiss to his nose. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isak whispered. 

__

***

It lingers.

It’s not that he… can’t get it out of his mind or anything. It’s just… it’s in his joints in a way that makes him wish he didn’t have to lean so heavily on the rod in the tram. Or that he wasn’t white-knuckling it beneath his sleeve. That sorta stuff. 

All Isak can think about is how saying it out loud made it too real — and how… _easily_ Even took on the information. It makes something in his temples hurt a little. 

It’s not any better that he’s checking his phone anywhere between 45 and 90 seconds at a time to see if Olsen’s tried get ahold of him about _anything—_ but it’s just the breed of radio silence that makes his teeth wanna chatter. Maybe it’s just the icy air in the tram and pluming off the sidewalk. 

Or, it. Maybe it wasn’t. Right as Isak plants himself at the bench in Norwegian, his phone vibrates against the bench and makes him leap back up. He yanks it from his back pocket and he’s really not ashamed to admit his heart falls out of his ass when he sees Olsen’s caller ID, but he _is_ something like embarrassed to note how bad his thumbs are shaking over the receiver. 

“Olsen?” He — his voice is _scratchy?_

Isak makes a despairing motion to his teacher before slipping out the door again. “Are— is everything good?”

“Are you alone?” She says tiredly, swallow audible over the static. Isak wants to die for a second as he peeks around the hallway.

“I… yeah. Yeah. What’s going on?” 

“Isak,” She swallows again. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to have this conversation, please just bear with me ‘til the end here. Your… your parents do want you home. They have a pretty good case for the situation, as unfortunate as it is, but I _can’t_ let you go back there in good conscience. It’s more than apparent to me and to the state that it’s unsafe for you. They really only want you back for _their_ benefit—“

“I know, I know… I know what they’re about. Okay. What… what do I need to do?” Isak leaned against the windowsill, looking out over the parking lot. Olsen took a deep breath. 

“Isak… there’s a catch. I can keep you out and away from them, but…”

“Anything. _Anything,_ Olsen. Just tell me.”

__

***

He’s so tired as he jams his thumb into the bell. It clips against the baby-pink skin on his thumb, still fleshy and stings as he pulls it away. The brass knocker is chipped, paint scraped away to show him something speckled and rusty beneath. Something ugly.

Scuff marks streaking the bottom of the front door make his heart sink a little. 

The door swings open to a face Isak’s never seen before — his jaw is chiseled and decorated with ginger scruff and Isak has to _look up_ at him, and he’s really just had enough.

“Veeti, I’m guessing?” He sighs, and the guy looks a little disrupted. Isak’s not really one for confrontation at 15:30 in the afternoon, either, lie. Can’t really get mad at him for that one. 

He nods slowly, mouth opening to ask questions Isak’s prepped for. 

“I’m Isak,” He says, and Veeti freezes for a second. “Yeah, me too man. Is Lea here? Or, like, if she’s not, can you tell me where to find her? She won’t answer her phone.”

“She… yeah.” His voice is a lot thinner than anything else would suggest. Something in Isak wants to bulk up for a second, but he’s just tired and marginally pissed off and really just wants to go home to Even. He’s making pasta tonight, like. _Making_ pasta. Isak wouldn’t be living life if he skipped that. 

Veeti’s turned on his heel and left the door open for Isak to follow long before Isak actually comes out of his thoughts. He hears him calling for her somewhere, and has no other idea than to step in. 

A chill runs down his spine, grip on the doorknob too tight as he peers around to what could _easily_ be his parents’’ second home, and if that isn’t all the confirmation he needs to know something is wrong here. Like Olsen hadn’t tried to say it earlier. Great. 

There’s lino on the floor, designed to look like wood and scuffed up in all the wrong places to ruin the illusion. There’s no photos on the walls, no paint, no decorations, just a track carpet taking you from the front door to the kitchen. Isak’s not sure if he’s actually in his shoes right now.

Like nothing, with no noise and no footsteps and probably no air sucked into her lungs, Lea stands there at the at kitchen entry with socked feet and alarmed eyes. She looks so much like Marianne it makes Isak want to choke.

“Hi,” She says, somehow breathless, and Isak’s just. This is enough. 

“Did you know?” He says, because why not. Lea furrows her brow. “No, no. Don’t play dumb. Did you know?” 

“Know…” She still looked confused as she leaned against the entry. 

“Olsen called me,” He swiped at his nose, suddenly aware of Veeti’s lingering in the kitchen beyond them. “She said she can get me away from mom and dad.”

Her eyes widened, a little gasp leaving her mouth as she suddenly swept towards Isak with open arms. The door was still open behind him, thankfully, as he jumped backwards from her grip. Part of him wanted to dig at the irony of being in this doorway, hand the knob, sister’s arms open less than a metre from him. 

The other part of him wanted to leave. To go home to Even.

“Isak, that’s great!” She said, not missing a beat and clasping her hands together at her chest. “What did she say? Oh god, I--”

“Lea,” Isak cut her off, and she furrowed her brow again in concern. “You know, don’t you.”

Her demeanor sort of froze for a moment, but the recovery time didn’t matter. Isak had what he needed. 

“Isak, I--”

“No,” Isak shook his head, stepping back a little further as she moved forward again. “No, Lea, I… No.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting this way,” She breathed, whatever poorly guided attempt to console him falling far shorter than he wanted to give away. 

Well, maybe.

Isak’s face probably darkened, or something. That was probably it. Lea’s goofy little stutter backwards didn’t ease it. “Sure. Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to with mom and dad. I’m really tired of worrying about it all the time. I don’t know how Olsen -- Olsen told me that my parents said, I have other family I could stay with, and both of us knew, _know,_ that’s not true. I don’t know what’s going on, but _listen._

“I’m not staying here with you, okay? I thought you had good intentions with the offer at first, but nothing about this is sitting right with me. Ever since mom and dad tried to interrogate Even, I can’t get it out of my fucking skull that they’re looking for reasons to set this up. Digging for them. It makes me feel fucking terrible, because I have a life outside of that now, okay? Being someone who isn’t constantly fucking picked and prodded at is something I’m finding that I _like._ Sound familiar?” His voice hadn’t risen, he’s real careful about that stuff. Nonetheless, Lea had flinched back as he spat back at her, like she was waiting to be hit, and… and while Isak could understand the reflex, they were on opposite ends of the hallway. He was in an open doorway, herself pushed back against the entryway again. 

As far as he was concerned, she’d dug herself too deep for him to pull her out.

“It does,” She said carefully. Watery. Whatever. “It does, Isak, I get what you’re saying. If you don’t want to stay here, that’s fine, but I just--”

“Please quit with the act, fuck,” Isak said, eyes drooping. Lea looked at him for a moment too long to get away with it, and she must have noticed it too. Her arms crossed lazily atop her stomach, mouth in a lazy grimace as she leaned back against the wall again. 

“Okay, well,” She muttered, and _there_ we go. “You don’t want to live here. Okay. What are you gonna do then? When mom and dad try to make it happen?”

“If you respect me as a human being,” Isak said, matching her tone. She looked a little taken aback by it. “You’re going to say I moved in here. That easy. You’re gonna put a bed in a room and say I’m staying with you, or whatever you have to do, and I’ll be here for those checkups you know social services has to do.”

Lea swallowed, shifted her jaw around for a moment before nodding minutely. He raised an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“Where are you going, then?” Her voice was quiet in the hallway. Isak shrugged. 

“Where I _want_ to be. How about that.”

__

***

Upside-down, legs hanging off opposite ends up the bed, hoodies pulled up and eyes just as heavy, they’ve been idly nosing at each other like this for hours. Isak can’t really say what time it is or even when they came in here.

Even might be asleep, actually. They’ve just been breathing the same air like this since the sun’s gone down. It’s been unbelievably comfortable, Isak’s… kind of teetering on the edge of consciousness himself. Part of him wants to twist around and glance at the alarm clock beyond Even’s legs, but. Honestly. The other part really just wants to watch Even’s shoulder sink with each breath.   
_Where he wants to be._ The thought had been bouncing around the walls of his skull all night. He knew the answer, he had it right here. Was telling Lea a bad idea? Was mentioning it at all somehow worse? Would… would Even want to back out? 

“You’re thinking too hard.” 

Isak jerks back, his little gasp permeating the bubble around them. Even lets out a small noise, a hand flying up to the back of Isak’s head to keep him from moving too far. 

“I’m sorry,” He breathes out, thumb moving back and forth against the base of Isak’s skull. “Oh my god, I didn’t--”

“I thought you were _sleeping,_ ” Isak hisses (through a laugh, if he’s being honest). He makes a little show of settling himself back down after that, making Even snort into the bedspread. 

“My eyes were _open,_ Isak.”

“Whatever,” He mutters, and Even lets out another little laugh. 

“What’s going on?” He asks instead, twisting to lie properly on his side and meet Isak’s gaze a little better. “You really did look, like…”

His gaze drops from Even’s, figuring it useless to hide how apprehensive he was about what had happened earlier in the afternoon. 

He wants to tell Even. He _does._ He just… something niggles in the back of his mind that he _shouldn’t._ That he tells Even too much, that he talks too much about himself. Or, like, that he doesn’t ask enough about him? Tacking this on there, especially after he just told him Lea’s even _around_ (which he still wants to ask Even for his thoughts on in _general_ ), he just… Is it unfair?

It’s sour in his throat. 

“I’ll get it figured out,” He opts for instead, trying to meet Even with an appeasing gaze, which. Yeah. He wasn’t sure why he thought Even would let that go. “No, really, I--”

“Is it Olsen, or something?” Even asks softly. Isak’s focus zeroes in on his thumb at the base of his skull again. He nods minutely.

“Okay. I’ll be there if you need me.” He says, and. Oh. 

What?

Isak can’t hide his surprise, brow furrowing for a moment. Maybe he’s too used to having his scabs picked at for him that something like that was, fuck, like, unacceptable? For a second? 

“Yeah?” He finds himself exhaling, and Even nods, leaning to nudge their noses together again. 

“Yeah. Someone wise once told me to take it as easy as you need it,” He smirks for a second. “I think it’d be good for you to hear, too.”

Isak kind of wants to balk back playfully, but he’s not sure how it’d be received. “That’s rich, coming from Mr. _‘I feel like director’s need to have everything planned out--”_

“Hey,” Even laughs, pretending to be offended. “Hey now. They _do._ They have to know every frame if the story’s gonna pan out how they w--”

“Even,” Isak scoots in a little further, his own hand coming up to play with the loose locks of Even’s hair. “I think we--”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Even rolls his eyes. He shuffles like he’s trying to lie on his back again without dislodging Isak’s hand. “It doesn’t work like that in real life. Yeah. I dunno. Maybe it does in one of your parallel universes, ever thought of that?”

“Sure,” Isak shrugs. Maybe Even wasn’t expecting him to agree so easily, as he purses his lips out in thought. Isak raises an eyebrow.

“I…” Even swallows. “Huh, uh. Does your brain ever…”

Isak tries to relax his gaze. “You can tell me.”

“I don’t know. When you said that, my brain immediately went, _‘maybe in one, you guys aren’t so fucked up,’_ and now my stomach hurts a little bit.” Even’s gaze flits around as he speaks, and that just. That just won’t do.

“I think about that sometimes, too.” He whispers. “It freaks me out a little bit.”

“To imagine yourself without--” Even cuts himself off, almost like he needs permission to -- What? Isak nods instead. “Like, like… Maybe in another universe, you’re just Isak without all the bruises and the burns and PTSD, you’re like… Maybe you coming out to your parents would be a way bigger deal for you. Or, like, to anybody. You told me how Jonas and his friends made a lot of jokes about it before you told him, and then he started sticking up for it, like… like what if you never got the nerve to do that? If it freaked you out so much that you just ignored being gay until you couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Are you trying to plot out my life right now?” Isak laughed lightly, a little harder when Even rolled his eyes. 

“And if I am?” 

“What about you in that universe?” Isak asked.

“I… I dunno. Maybe I’m Even who knows how to keep his shit together a little better.” He looks distant for a second, and Isak shifts a little to try and catch his gaze again. 

“Even?”

“Maybe I still transfer to Nissen,” He starts. “I feel like a lot of me was shaped by what happened at Bakka, like, I wouldn’t want to erase that. It let me come to terms with a lot of things, it let me meet _you,_ like… that’s quintessential. Maybe I don’t have sleeping problems because of it, or my parents never tried to go to Germany to save their marriage. Maybe I go to Nissen to start over, no one knows I’m bipolar, I’m just trying to keep my head down and graduate. Then some second year with a backwards hat still manages to screw up my entire plan on the first day,” He smiles, toothy and almost out of place in context, but Isak can’t help but return it. It makes his chest warm.

“And maybe you fucking _saw_ me,” He laughs a little, and Isak scoffs back. “Maybe we, like, hit it off. Neither of us acknowledge why, in true Isak and Even fashion,” He starts giggling harder when Isak rolls his eyes, can’t even keep a smile from his own lips anymore. “Maybe we’re friends for a while before I get the nerve to make a move. Oh, jesus, you know what-- what if we were in the water like out of Romeo + Juliet?”

“Why would it be you?” Isak squints. Even lets out a huff of laughter.

“You’re still in the closet in this one, it would _have_ to be me,” He’s smiling so much, fuck. Fuck.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like being with you right here, though.” He says it kind of quietly, but Even’s smile only grows.

“I like it, too. It’s just nice to think that there might be a place without all this mess.” He shrugs, nuzzles at Isak again. 

“Maybe. You sounds kind of intimidating in that universe, though. You probably would have terrified closeted me in this one, too, honestly. I remember looking at you when you walked into group and thinking _‘holy fuck, he’s hot’_ and having no idea how to pull myself together without looking like I was having a stroke,” Isak smiled.

Even let out a little snort. “I think you would have scared me in that one, too. I think in any universe, you still knock the wind out of me when I look at you for the first time.”

Wow, that was smooth. Okay. “I think in any universe, we still end up like this. I don’t know. Maybe in that one we’re in my room. Maybe we’re, like, smoking a joint instead of riding out chronic insomnia.”

“Pfft,” Even laughs, rolling on his back to cover his face in his palms as he tries to stay quiet. “If only.”

Maybe… maybe he’ll talk about it with Even in the morning. For now, he settles for reaching out and wrapping a hand around Even’s wrist, pulling it back to meet his gaze as he mumbles, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Even whispers, and then proceeds to cup Isak’s face and give his cheek the sort of loud, smacking kiss that leaves Isak squealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another reason this took me so long: i had to cut half the content out because it would have been the longest chapter to date, so... ;)
> 
> i love you guys <3

**Author's Note:**

> i would _love_ some feedback,, it makes my whole world go round,, 
> 
> [find me here!](http://lachesisrn.tumblr.com)


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